Two More Days

I thought about doing my regular posts today but have decided just to write my thoughts for the next few days. Since the weather has changed colder and has actually stabilized a bit, the pain level has gone from above 10 to just around a 10 on the 10 point scale. I have kept moving a bit and stretching some over the last few days. I've even done a few exercises on our new nifty exercise machine. I just haven't done as much as I have before the past month. It frustrates me that my activity level, low that it was, is now even lower. Chris encourages me to keep me going even when I want to pull the covers over my head and not wake up. I wish that sometimes I could encourage myself. At any rate, Chris has decided to try to quit smoking now that we have the home gym set up completely. Whenever he begins to feel antsy, he will go in there and do a few exercises or take Dudley out for an extra small walk. I'm super proud of him because I know how hard it is to break a habit that is as addicting as smoking. He has cut down over the last ten years that we've been together. When we first started living together, Chris was smoking close to two full packs a day. Just before he quit on Sunday, he was making a pack of cigarrettes last for nearly three days. I realized in the beginning that if I got onto him or nagged him to stop, he would smoke more than if I just encouraged him to quit when he felt ready and I would be behind him 100%. I hope that at the end of the year I can say that he was successful for the whole year. Yet if he can only do it for a few months, then I'll be proud because he tried. You can't succeed if you don't stumble a few times along the way.

In two more days, I'll be the big 3-0. I'm not really dreading it like most of my friends think I am. To me, it just means I've moved from the awkwardness of the twenties into the more adult-like expectations of the thirties. That's not to say I won't joke around and have lots of fun. But I know there is a sense of heaviness and responsibility that comes with being in the thirties. It's time to stop playing so much and caring a little more about the things that really matter like family, great friends, and creating memories that last the rest of one's life. To be very honest, I'm dreading this birthday because of the obvious reason - that my brother won't be sharing it with me. Oh, what I would give to have one more birthday party with him. It always seemed that he was out to steal the spotlight of my birthday from the very beginning. I can remember when I was having my 3rd birthday party, my mom and dad had to stop the party because her water broke. Talk about upset! I didn't even get to have any of my Strawberry Shortcake themed birthday cake. From that moment forward, Billy and I shared our birthdays. As a young kid, it didn't really matter that we shared the parties and sometimes cakes. But as we grew older there was a sense of each of us wanting to have a little something for ourselves. I sit here now and know that my birthday is soon, his birthday comes 14 hours after mine. I would give just about anything to have one more shared birthday cake and party with him.

I miss Billy so much. I thought that I was okay with the fact that he had to leave this world and move onto whatever lay ahead after we die. In the days leading up to his death, it was sort of like being in a dream and not being able to wake up, no matter how hard you want to. The day he took his last breath, I cried and I mourned but in the back of my mind, it all still didn't seem real to me. I came home that day and slept. The next day I met Mom and Dad at the funeral home to plan the funeral arrangements. Even then nothing seemed to be real to me. It's only been in the last couple of weeks that everything has started to hit me that he's not going to be here with me physically. We'll never spend another day together just hanging out or eating pizza or doing anything. I'll never get to hear his voice on the phone after he's gotten all excited over something that his little dog, Dale, has done or even when he's planning something like a prank. I won't get to hear his evil, little giggle. I won't get to see his face light up over pictures or gifts that touched him. It all just sucks so bad. I feel the ache and the hole deep inside me grow with each moment that I remember that we shared. In the past few days, I've really grown envious of my mom and dad. They have something to distract them for a little while because they get up and go to work every day. All I had each day was usually Billy - calling to check on him, calling to make sure he took meds, going over there to be with him for a while, and most often then not, reminding him that he is worth so much to people. He was a very, very large part of my life and I haven't figured out what my purpose in this life is without him. He was one of my first best friends. Andy, the youngest, was the other. We were the three musketeers, always getting into trouble together or getting one another in trouble.

Oh, Billy. If you could see how many people love you so much, they hurt every moment under the weight of your loss. You broke down one time and screamed that no one loved you and you had no friends. I wish you had seen all the people who came to both the showing and the funeral. The little book that people were to sign held over 100 addresses. But there were so many more there. Don't you realize that you also impacted the lives of others who live all around the world? There were people across the oceans praying for you each time that you went into the hospital. I know that they also grieved that you passed from this earth. But Billy, no matter how much you don't want us to cry over your being gone, it's so hard not to cry. When you have something so precious, so fragile and beautiful in your hand all the time, it's hard to appreciate just how wonderful that gift is. Only when it is lost, hidden from view, does the heart long for it and the mind try to recreate every nuance of the gift. That's how I feel about you, Billy. You were a precious, wonderful gift that gave small parts of your love and heart to those who you deemed worthy even when the rest of the world would have turned their backs. I miss how you sparkled and shined. Pictures only capture one small part of who we are. But it's all we have left now. I love you, Billy.

I love all of you, my readers. Thank you for putting up with my rambling and my strange posts. I have tried to make things as routine as possible but sometimes that just doesn't happen with emotions and grieving. Thank you for the encouragement to keep going and to keep writing no matter what comes out. There could be a diamond in the rough hidden somewhere. For now, I'm off to get some sleep. Take care out there.

Love and blessings,
Kim