Blindsided...

The children and I arrived late at my sister's place in California after a long day of traveling. As the six of us piled into the house with all our suitcases, the kids couldn't pull their jammies out fast enough. As their day clothes went flying, Bobbi and I whipped out the sheets and started making beds. We couldn't get Little Mermaid and Nemo tucked under the mattress before we had a child curling up waiting for a kiss and a blessing.

After the whirlwind died down, I found my own bed and began my mental review of the day, you know the way you do when you're out of your element and time zone. Was there anything I still needed to do before I could go to sleep? As I went through the checklist, in the most automatic and natural way I thought, "I need to call Bill to tell him that we made it ok."

It came out of nowhere. How could I think so naturally to call Bill?! It was as if that part of me was still living in 2004. Really, for a split second, he wasn't gone and I wasn't alone without him to care where and how I was. It was a moment of bliss utterly and mercifully destroyed by the truth.

Bobbi held me as I cried it out and she so beautifully and lovingly said as I held my head in my hands and sobbed, "Jackie, he knows you made it ok...he knows. He's with you." She told the truth. It was the only thing that could have consoled me. He knows.

Welcome...

I've decided to move my journaling to this page because the Caringbridge site is really Bill's page. I tried to write for him and about him. Toward the end, I spent time reflecting on what was happening from my perspective, but I never felt comfortable doing that on his page. Here I can.