I really don't like Dec. 11.
Two years ago today, Steve and I stood in a dark room at a nearby hospital, staring in horror at a scan of his brain. There was a glaring white spot in the pons of his brain stem.
The doctor reading the scans was somber and looked at us with a downcast expression we would see again and again over the next few weeks -- sorrow and dread.
So much of our lives changed in those moments.
I had trouble going to sleep last night, knowing that I'd wake up on Dec. 11 without Steve. Today is a world away from last year, when we celebrated a full year since learning of the lesion that later became known as the Damm Spot.
I think that I subconsciously filled the day with even more activity than normal.
Katie and I took Cooper and friend Kyla to school, then we drove to Liz's. Liz's parents are in town and were able to watch Katie and Noe while Liz and I ran four miles -- our last run before the race Sunday.
Katie and I came home just in time for Teresa to install new shades in the master bathroom -- a project we started this summer to help reduce the glare in the bedroom. (The light was hurting Steve's eyes.)
Then we hurried off to the gym for Katie's weekly tumbling class.
After tumbling, Katie and I were back in the minivan (which is dressed as Rudolph with antlers and a red nose, thanks to Liz), headed out for lunch and errands.
I turned on the radio just in time to hear a song that made me laugh and cry at the same time -- "The Song That Goes Like This" from the musical Spamalot.
A few weeks before Dec. 11, 2007, Steve and friend Jennifer sang "The Song That Goes Like This" for our church choir's annual fundraiser. Steve sang with his trademark enthusiasm and sense of humor.
I love that even on Dec. 11, just three months after Steve passed away, there is so much joy. Friends who cheer us up, family members who call just to say hi, silly Christmas disguises for cars, songs that evoke special memories.
Enjoy the song performed by Steve and Jennifer in autumn 2007!