Two Months

Yesterday marked two months since Nick left us. The hardest part about these anniversaries is that time continues, and the world keeps going around. I keep looking at the pictures of us taking him back to Gorman, and I just cry because he’s not in them.

One of the things I forgot to mention in my last blog was a little reminder that I got from Heather and Rian the morning before we went up the mountain. The text from Heather said, “Rian said your dream about him saying “come up here and I’ll help you understand,” was about the mountain.” I had this dream about two days after Nick died and I told Rian about it a few days later.

I am not going to lie; I have had a lot of anger since Nick died. I know Nick loved being in those mountains, but how could he leave me here when we had so many plans. I have yelled at him, I have cried for him, and I have begged him to come back.

When I was going up that mountain, I began to understand. Rian was right; my dream was about the mountain. Nick always told me sledding was his drug of choice. He always explained to me when he is out there he forgets about all the stress of this rat race that we live in. I often told him he should come to yoga with me, and he always said, “Babe, sledding is my yoga.” After being up there Nick, I get it.

I was talking to a long time friend and co-worker yesterday because I felt the need to reach out to him. His passion is snowmobiling too, and he said to me, “You feel free when riding a snowmobile in the mountains. It makes you appreciate everything you have in the world and also humbles a man when he realizes how small he is in comparison to a mountain.” I almost couldn’t believe he said that because Nick has described it that way to me many times. How could I be angry at him? After being up there Nick, I get it.

I have a lot of plans to carry on Nick’s passion, and I will explain more of that later on. For now, all I ask is that every person out in the backcountry, especially snowmobilers recognize that it doesn’t matter how much training you have, or how experienced you think you might be, you could be next. Practice your training and then practice again and be safe.

As I write this blog, I am sitting on my deck. About twenty minutes ago I was in my office looking at old pictures and text messages bawling my face off. I still can’t believe Nick is gone, and I don’t know when this denial will pass. I was crying out for Nick asking him why he had to go. I could barely catch my breath. I asked myself, “If Nick were at home right now, where would he be.” That was an easy question to answer; he would have been on the deck. That’s where I am sitting right now.

I haven’t been able to go in the garage yet, and I am sure in time I will have an urge to but for now I will just stare at the yard and cry. We spent six days renovating this yard, with the help of my Dad of course. We spent $6000 on this yard and only got to enjoy it together for nine months. Nick and I had so many conversations back here. One week before he died we were sitting out here for a fire, and I said to him, “when I am pregnant my drink of choice will be ginger ale and cranberry juice.” We wanted to move out of this city so much but every time we sat in our back yard we were so proud of the work we did back here and enjoyed every minute of it. I can’t even believe that I am sitting here alone picturing Nick in the excruciating heat, laying those patio stones. He did such a great job.

I will admit, there is something about being out here that makes me feel closer to Nick. Nick loved being outside and just breathing in the air helps me to ground myself even just for a moment. As I typed that fifty birds just flew passed in a huge hurry. Juno is losing her shit as we speak. That was likely Nick because there was nothing he loved more than irritating Juno.

I called Apple today, and it looks like they aren’t going to be able to help me get on Nick’s phone. Nick didn’t have his photos backed up to the Cloud, so the only way I can get them is if he shows up in my dreams and tells me his password. This woman I spoke to was from Texas. She cried with me on the phone. She said after 26 years of marriage; her husband left her for a younger woman. She went on to say she was lucky enough to get the house but due to the floods recently she has severe leaking, and her insurance company won’t help her. All of a sudden this woman was confiding in me. I also learned her sister died a few years ago at the age of 44 from Pancreatic Cancer, and her Dad still hasn’t been able to talk about it. She wished so bad she could help me but said all she could do was pray. She told me, “you know, sometimes during the horrendous grief spirits can’t get through. Maybe when you are in a better place, he will be able to tell you his password somehow.” She was trying so hard to give me possible passwords. “What about your birthday or the day you met?”

Between the manicure lady and the Apple employee, I am beginning to think Nick is guiding my day to day interactions. I know some people say that when someone is grieving don’t tell them about your experiences of pain, but for some reason these stories have helped me to feel less alone. I have been dealt shitty cards, and I can’t change that, but the bottom line is, so has a million other people.

I went to see my surgeon on Tuesday and spoke to her about my upcoming surgery in June. Right away she asked me, “so we have the surgery for June, how have things been?” I just broke down. My Mom had to tell her what happened. The last time I met with this doctor was hands down one of the best days of my life. I have been dealing with Endometriosis for over ten years, and she finally made me feel like there was a way out. We finally had a plan, and I was so excited. Telling her what happened to Nick felt so unfair. It was only January that Nick and I talked about our plans for fertility and that finally there was a doctor who would help. I couldn’t wait for our honeymoon ;).

Lately, I have been numb. I am in the middle of grieving and accepting that Nick is gone and trying to figure out what I am supposed to do now. I came across a quote from my Facebook history that I posted right after my Aunt died. It said, “God has a much bigger plan than you have for yourself.” I shared that on Facebook after she died because she told me that I would do much “bigger” things than policing. I wish there were a way she could tell me what she meant. That was only a few days before she died.

Since Nick and my Aunt can’t tell me right now what to do, I will depend on my calendar from Nick to give me some hope. Today’s entry said as follows:

“My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.”
-Maya Angelou-

The entry on April 20th, two months after Nick’s death said the following:

“One day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it’s worth watching”. -Author Unknown-

It says author unknown, but something tells me Nick wants each and every one of us to realize that very thing. I can only hope and pray that in his last moments of life, he had no regrets. Let’s try not to have any regrets if not for ourselves, but for Nick.

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