Katie continues to talk every day about Daddy and how much she misses him. Last night she told Liz that it makes her sad that Daddy never watched her play soccer or score the only goal of her whole life. Today she told me, as she often does, that she wants Daddy to come back to life.
This afternoon I ran into one of Cooper's preschool teachers. Dana took excellent care of Cooper for a year and a half -- until he turned 3. We hadn't seen her in many years. She had no idea that Steve had been diagnosed with cancer or that he had passed away.
When she asked how we all are doing, I had no choice but to tell her.
I never fully understood the phrase "one day at a time" until this whole experience began -- when Steve's symptoms wouldn't go away in fall 2007 and we both worried quietly and together. The planner and organizer in me scoffed at the idea that you could or would ever try to just get through this day before thinking of the next.
I now realize that you can still plan and organize logistics. (Thank goodness, because it's impossible for me to turn that part of my brain off.) But it's a waste of time and energy to worry about how you're going to feel or how you're going to emotionally get through next week.
I could never have anticipated that I would be standing in the middle of Target, with bags hanging off my arms, talking with one of Cooper's former teachers about Steve's illness and death. And even though it's awful to rehash details -- no matter how brief -- I got through it. And I will again.
This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.