Daddy fly…

Lately Lido is putting it all together…or maybe he is just processing it with an older mind but he says things about Doug. Especially after we went to Portland and went to the airport to see all of our friends and pilots – and helicopters. He was given a tour by a few people who were at his beck and call (bless you) and he enjoyed every moment. He was fascinated by all of the helicopters and the airplanes. At one point, as we looked at a helicopter getting ready to take off, that his Daddy flew these. It was just a brief moment in time. Didn’t last but a few seconds. But that has stuck in his mind ever since. His Daddy flew. Now, every time he sees a helicopter he says ‘Daddy fly’ and waves or maybe just looks up in the sky with these eyes that say so much more than he can.

Daddy fly.

I decided that I needed to talk more about where Daddy was – in simple terms. I used to all the time but stopped because I felt that my grief was becoming his. Now we talk about how Daddy is in the sky and he is watching over us. When I tell him that he thrusts his arm towards the sky and says ‘Daddy fly’. I’m not sure if going back to where we were triggered something in him – distant memories of a one year old now two. Whatever it is, I like it. I like the fact that he is bringing these things up at two. That he is sifting through his memories and trying to make sense of this. You can see it in his face and especially his eyes, the way his body relaxes and he gets a far away look. It makes me believe that he remembers the Daddy that loved him so very much – I know he remembers.

Daddy fly.

This time last year, only a month after the crash, I was trying to plan a life that I knew nothing about. I was trying to control something that was completely out of control. I was in the midst of trying to find a house because all I could think about was getting somewhere where Lido could grow up. That after moving to a place he was unfamiliar with, losing his Daddy, change would cease. It consumed me. I know some people didn’t think that I should be doing what I was doing. That I should give myself time. Not to make big decisions. But that isn’t me. I was so scared that if I rented a place or lived with my Mom that I would sink in a hole and I would never be able to get out. Sinking is not like me – but this situation – this nightmare – would make me sink and I knew that. I also knew that in order to get through all of it – I needed something that I had control over – I needed my space.

There have been times when I have looked back and thought that moving back here was the wrong decision. That I should have stayed there. Stayed by our things. Surrounded by what was familiar then. I felt that I was abandoned here at times. That our friends left me. That the support that I thought that I would have was not here. I thought that I would have been better off out there. I was angry that life went on for everyone else except for me. I felt that I had lost everything and there was no one there for me…to help pick me up.

Then I remembered the moments when a friend would call. A friend would come over and talk or go to dinner with me. I reminded myself that they were grieving to. That they didn’t know what to say to me and the fact that they could come to the house was a true gift – something that sounds so simple was probably one of the most difficult things they have done. I reminded myself that they could not replace Doug.

Going back to where we were also reminded me that even though I would have familiar, I would have so many things that would be too familiar. Hell, just visiting for two weeks I ended up driving by the parking lot in front of the furniture store where the sheriff and school owner met me after I was told on the phone that my husband was dead. This parking lot isn’t even near where I needed to be – I was just trying to get out of traffic and boom – there I was. Looking at it. Wondering if there were any remnants of that day still lingering there. A tear stain. A piece of my heart. Anything.

It was things like this that made me feel more comfortable in my decision to move back to what we had called our home for most of our lives. Or maybe it is a way of protecting myself – pretending like it didn’t happen. I do worry about that aspect. That by being here – in a new house, new surroundings – that I am not in the familiar that he and I knew as a couple and as parents. That I can shove everything away and not quite remember if I don’t want to because it isn’t right in front of me.

Then I remind myself that there are enough things here to remind me of him and also of what was lost. Our son’s second birthday where all of our friends, some of his family, my family came together – not just for Lido – but for Doug. To surround our son with love and happiness and to support me in their own quiet way. I hope they know how eternally grateful I am for that.

A year ago, I was still in shock. The fog that would encase me would come in another month or so. It has not lifted completely. I still cry most every day. It is hard to go out and be around a lot of people. I don’t know what to say to them. I don’t want to be the single one. I want to be married and go home to him. I want to cry out to everyone what has happened and beg that they do not forget. How does my life go on at 36? I got really used to being married. Moving into that frame of mind where you can depend on someone – that you don’t have to know how to fix appliances, or change your tire, or remember where your glasses are – because they are there to do those things. Being shoved back into doing everything on my own, by myself – sucks. Being okay with that is happening slowly. I’m finding the joy in the life that my son and I have – just the two of us.

However, it is still everyday that I cry. That my heart breaks and I try to remember that he is here with us, in us, a part of us and watching over us.

Daddy fly.

Explore posts in the same categories: Flying Dodo, Lido, Portland, Widowhood

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