Thursday, August 12, 2010


I've never been a huge fan of August. For the first 36 years of my life, the heat and humidity of Texas were to blame. When I was young, I was restless for school to begin. When I was working in a newsroom, I was restless for the slow news days of the end of summer to pass.

Then came last August. By this time last year, we faced crises every day. We were running out of ways to make Steve comfortable. He was definitely cheered by visitors, by his family, by the books he continued to read and by the work problems he continued to solve, but his body was making life miserable for him.

And Steve, who rescued me many times over, was unable to be physically rescued. It was and is a terrifying, humbling feeling.

Now it's August 2010, almost a full year after Steve's body stopped working altogether.

I am proud of how our little family has weathered this grief storm. I know that Steve is proud of us, too. I truly find more joy than sorrow in everyday life. We laugh more than we cry, and we don't apologize for crying.

Still, August is oppressive. Now it's more than the heat. It's the memories of Steve's pain and what little could be done and the current sting of his absence and the reality that every day since Sept. 7, 2009, is another day without him.

Cooper, Katie and I talked about how much we miss Steve at dinner tonight. They don't have dates in their head like I do, so I reminded them of the upcoming "anniversary" (is that the best word to use?) and told them that I would probably be more sad than usual.

We do have plans to make Labor Day weekend a special time for just the three of us -- plans that Steve would definitely approve.

And before we ever reach September, we're spending a couple of days with the cousins; we'll finish reading The Secret Garden; Katie will begin kindergarten; Cooper will begin fourth grade; Cooper will have a Scout sleepover at Space Center Houston; we'll celebrate friends' birthdays; and more.

Life will continue, just as it has for the past 11 months. And maybe next August won't sting quite so much.


Christie said...

I check this everyday. I love keeping up with all of you.
I grieve for you three each day.
I say a little prayer for you three each day.
Thank you for continuing to share your journey.

Much love to you all.
Ms. "D"

Anonymous said...

I am finally on line in Paris and able to stay in touch with you. On our last night on the barge, I was invited to drop a flower in the water with a prayer for my beautiful family. Tomorrow your dad and I will light two candles at Notre Dame - one for Stephen since he loved this beautiful city and one for Jeff Dove, whose mom, our friend Georgia did the same in Denver.
Love you and miss you,