Remarrying after the death of my wife, Part I: The impact on my daughter

In the months following Aimee's death, my daughter told me that she hoped to have a new mom someday.

Well, she has a new mom.

Some parts of that process have been good. Others, well, not bad, but difficult.

I am one of those people who likes to try and determine the worst-case scenario, and then prepare for it. If something better than that happens, great. If the worst happens, then I was ready for it. And so, our situation is not unexpected.

Life is harder if you're not silly sometimes

In our case, things are not bad by any stretch of the imagination. It's, well, normal. Sarah loves my daughter, and my daughter loves Sarah. But despite my daughter being completely on board about Sarah and I getting married, there's now this tension as she adjusts to not being the only other person getting my attention and affection. Plus, she's doing what children do - testing limits and figuring out her own dynamic with Sarah.

Sarah, for her part, had to jump into the deep end of the pool. As an employee of a school district, she has summers off. That means that when we got married in June of 2015, she went from being a single woman with her own condo to being a full-time stay-at-home mom (for a few months). The bonding time for the two of them was invaluable. But it also meant that neither got much of a break from the other, which I think would have helpful when making a major transition like this.

Things have been bumpy at times. My daughter went  into counseling for a bit. Then Sarah and I did. Then we all did some more. Daughter has recently started seeing a new therapist better suited to her current feelings. Sarah and I did another round.

No, it hasn't always been easy.

Now that we're more than two and a half years in, the situation has evolved. Our daughter (yes, I often say 'our daughter' now) is still somewhat jealous of the attention I give to Sarah, but it's better. The two of them are developing a nice relationship that continues to grow. And we all continue to grow together - sometimes with laughter and sometimes with tears, but always with love.

Dear Aimee, Happy Anniversary. I'm getting married again.

Dear Aimee,
Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart. Today would have been our eighth, and I have no doubt that the last two and a half years would have been as wonderful as the first five and half were.

If only we could have had the chance to find out.

Rowan is amazing, by the way. I mean, wow. The kid just turned SIX. Can you believe that? But what blows me away is how smart, funny, compassionate, and sweet she is. You know, just like you were. If I was going to have to be a single dad of a child, you could not possibly have left me with a better one. :)

But I guess I'm stalling here. Let me get to the real reason I wrote this letter to you.

I'm getting remarried.

I suppose if you really can see us down here from the glorious heaven above (and I hope for all of our sake that you can't), you already knew that. Sarah and I have been engaged for more than six months now, and the wedding planning began almost as long ago. But with the wedding being now less than two months away, and with today being your and my anniversary, I thought it fitting to tell you now.

I know this is what you wanted. I remember you and I talking about this once, and you making it clear you would want me to get remarried. Maybe you knew Rowan would really want a mom (she does). Maybe you you were aware of how much more work it is to run a household and raise a child on your own. Or maybe you were realistic about how long I'd really be able to last on my own as a single parent. :)  Either way, I recall you being very firm in your belief that if anything ever happened to you, that you wanted me to remarry.

Well, now that time is upon us. And Aimee, I really hope you would have approved of her, especially as she is going to have a huge influence on your daughter.

I think I've done well, choosing Sarah to join our family. First and foremost, she really loves both Rowan and me. And she has in common with you a strong faith in God, a deep desire to care for those she loves, and a healthy dose of patience (which anyone around me needs). Also like you, she is a strong woman, not easily bowled over by life's trials or my Type A episodes.

I'd like to think that the two of you would have truly liked each other, had you had the chance to know each other in this life. And so it is my sincere hope that if you are watching, if you can see us, that you know that Rowan and I both simultaneously miss you every day, but are also happy. And I hope that we would have your blessing on the upcoming marriage and life together. Because since the day you died, I have lived a great deal of my life by the standard of wanting you to be proud of what I've done and the decisions I've made, especially the ones that affect Rowan.

May this decision fall among the ones you would have approved of.

With deepest love and affection on our anniversary,
-Patrick

The Big Announcement

With the continuation of legal proceedings in Florida over the last couple of years, I have stayed pretty quiet about my relationship with the woman I have referred to as 'Sandra' on this blog. Her name is actually Sarah, and now that the legal crap is pretty much out of the way, I plan to be a lot more open about our relationship.

The significance of this is that while she and I have undergone a number of struggles and experiences that are directly related to my dealing with Aimee's death, I haven't felt free to talk about that here. It's one of the main reasons I haven't posted much this year - most of what I've gone through has been in the intersection between Aimee's death and my relationship with Sarah. So in the coming weeks, I plan to share some of those things here, in hopes that people who've gone through similar situations might learn from my mistakes experiences.

By next summer the last name on
the jersey will be her last name too!

But for now, I am just going to share this one small, insignificant bit of news:

We're getting married!

Yes, Sarah and I became engaged about a month and a half ago (a little more than a year after we started dating), and are already full steam into planning our wedding, which will happen next summer. 

This development has brought on a whole new set of things we're dealing with, which will also be the topic of some future blog post.

I feel I would be remiss if I did not mention that although Sarah is walking into a very complicated situation, she's handled it with an incredible amount of grace, patience, understanding, and humor. She's going from being a single woman with no children (or in-laws) to becoming a wife and mother with what amounts to TWO sets of in-laws. Because I'll tell all of you this: Aimee's family is still exactly that - family. Not just Aimee's, but mine and Rowan's as well. And soon, Sarah's. And as I saw on Thanksgiving, they are embracing her and she them.

So that's the big news, and all I have for now. More - much more - coming.

Thanksgiving, and some important news is coming

First, let me say I hope all of you had a happy and blessed Thanksgiving. I really did, which I'll dig deeper into momentarily.

But first, I have some news. Well, ok, it's not news itself, but rather letting you know that in the coming weeks, there WILL be news, and lots of it. This blog is going to really come alive again for a while, as I have a lot of things to share... soon.

In the meantime, I'm going to share some things I'm incredibly thankful for, and a little about my Thanksgiving.

A photo of Caroline from
her blog, Caroline in Space

• I'm thankful that for now, at least, the legal proceedings in Florida are about wrapped up. I'm anxious to have that chapter in my life closed and behind me.
• I got to spend time on Thanksgiving with Justin and Caroline. Since we live across the U.S. from each other, I don't get to see them as often as I'd like. I was particularly excited to see Carline because...
• Caroline is pregnant! They're having their first child, a daughter. And in a move that brought tears to my eyes when Justin told me, they're going to name the baby...
• Aimee.

I also need to say I am so thankful for my relationship with Aimee's family since her death. Donna has been an incredible help and support, going WAY above and beyond to be a help to me, and to play an important role in Rowan's life. Donna tells Rowan stories about Aimee, shares keepsakes and old photos with Rowan, and in general just takes amazing care of her when she's babysitting. I am so blessed to have such a wonderful resource, and Rowan is blessed to have such an important link to her mother.

But it goes beyond just that. As I've been dating 'Sandra' for over a year now, Donna has been so supportive of that as well, and has really embraced Sandra and her role in my and Rowan's lives. Justin and Caroline have embraced Sandra as well, inviting her to join all of us on Thanksgiving. We all had a really nice time.

I could go on and on about all that I'm thankful for, but I'll leave it at this for now. And watch in the coming days and weeks, as there will be lots of stuff coming out. One of the biggest pieces of news will be coming tomorrow or the next day.

And yes, it relates to 'Sandra'.

Girlfriend

So, I've decided to share the news... I am seeing someone.

For now, I plan to protect her privacy by not sharing a lot about her, including her name. For now, let's call her "Sandra". But here's what I will tell you:

It's going well.

Sandra is beautiful, smart, and funny. She is a very warm-hearted person doing speech therapy work in an elementary school. Sandra is fully aware of my situation: of how I lost Aimee, that I write this blog (she doesn't read it), and that I still have very close relationships with Aimee's surviving family members. In fact, she's very supportive of that. We've been together about six months now, and although it's still early, I am cautiously optimistic about where this might go.

I have also started to slowly introduce her and Rowan, with the three of us occasionally doing activities together. That part is really weird, because although I am used to being with her when it's just to two of us, adding Rowan into the dynamic feels like I'm betraying Aimee just a little somehow. Intellectually I know better, but it's still weird.

You see, when we're all together, I sometimes try to imagine a possible future where we're a family. And I see this analogy where our family was a three-piece puzzle, with each person - Aimee, Rowan, and I - were each one of the pieces. Together, our three pieces created an image of our family. Then one of those pieces was suddenly gone, and our family looked a lot different. It took some time, but I was able to reach a point of acceptance of how this new family image appeared. But now if I imagine Sandra's piece fitted in where Aimee's used to be, well now that's a whole new family image, and that one will take some getting used to (if we get to that point).

For now, I am enjoying getting to know her, and beginning to watch her and Rowan get to know each other. It's all a bit surreal, and weird, and fun, and sad, and many other things as well. But one thing I feel very sure about:

Aimee would want this. I have not a second's hesitation about that. Aimee would want us to move on, build new relationships, find love, and round out our beautiful family. Maybe Sandra is that piece, maybe not. But I know I am doing the right thing.

Observations after one year of Missing Aimee

Here are just some random observations after a year without Aimee. These are in no particular order.

I can do this single dad stuff. It took a long time to accept that I was a good solo father, but I did get there. I seriously doubted myself so much the first 8-9 months. But I eventually came to see that Rowan was as happy as a child could be in her circumstances (though she obviously carries a lot of pain), and that she she clearly felt loved, safe, and secure. Additionally, she is well behaved, well-mannered, and sweet. No matter what a child's parenting situation, you absolutely can not ask for more than that.

That being said, I can see seeds of the challenges I may face with her. I already see her questioning things about her mothers' death, and I know that some of the worst of her pain is still likely ahead of her, as she gets older and learns more about the circumstances of her mother's death and how needless it was.

Speaking of single parenting... I've known single moms throughout my life (including both of my sisters and my mom for at least some stretches of time), and across the board I've admired them for all they manage to accomplish. This year I learned firsthand just how difficult that is, especially if it happens suddenly and you're hell-bent on continuing to do everything well. I learned how to let go of some things, and how to get by on a lot less sleep.

All you need is love? The Beatles once sang that "All you need is love". Well, I'm not sure I completely believe that, but it sure as hell goes a long way. Aimee's love made my life a truly wonderful experience, even when life was far less than wonderful. And after her death, the love of so many friends and family members was just amazingly huge, I still can't fully wrap my head around it. Meals, gifts, free child care, words of support and encouragement, prayers, and so much more.

But please take this to heart: people can't truly love you in practical ways unless you let them. That means if you ever find yourself in a situation like the one I was in a year ago, when people offer to help, let them! I know it's not easy. Our culture idolizes the strong, and in some ways, that's OK. But when you're down, people want to help you, and you hurt them when you don't let them. You're not imposing on them by accepting their offer, you're recognizing their love for you, and returning it by allowing them to feel like they're alleviating your pain or worry in some small (or big) way. I know. I was exactly like that once, always one to say "Thanks, but I got it" when someone  wanted to help me in my times of trouble. But after I read "90 Minutes in Heaven" by Don Piper in the summer of 2011, I realized just how wrong this mentality is. And it was a lesson learned just in time for when I'd really need it. Now I'm passing it on to you. If you're going through struggles, don't be an ass and try to shoulder the burden yourself when someone offers to help. Let them help.

Choose to live. After Aimee died, I didn't feel like living anymore. Not that I was suicidal - I wasn't. But my joy for life was gone, as was my joy in all things (yes, even Rowan to some extent). But very early on, I decided, largely for the sake of my daughter, to choose to live every day. Not just to physically live, but to actually re-learn to find the beauty in life, to find enjoyment in things, and to feel happy again. It was damn difficult, especially the first six months. "Fake it 'til you make it" the saying goes. That's what I did. And slowly but surely, I found some joy again. Far more importantly I showed Rowan, by my example, that life does go on, and that it can be good if you choose to make it good.

Many days I still have to consciously choose to have a good day and find happiness and joy. It's often still difficult. But it's easier than it was, and it's a far better way to go through life than being miserable and taking those around you with you.

No one else is you.  No two people's grief is the same, and you can't compare your own grief process to that of others and wonder if you're 'doing it right.' There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is no right or wrong amount of time before you can laugh again. There is no right or wrong way to remember your lost loved one. There is no right or wrong time before you can find joy. There is no right or wrong amount of time before you can fall in love again. You get the idea. You have to walk your own path, at your own pace, and do what you know in your own heart is truly the best way for you to go. Just keep in mind that this is never an excuse for being callous to the needs of others grieving with you.

Finally, let go of fear. I have had many fears this first year, some of which are still with me to some degree or another. Early on, I was afraid that most of my friends would move on from this tragedy and get on with their lives, and I'd be alone in my grief. And while slowly most of my friends have moved on from this, they haven't done so and left me behind. They've stayed by my side, checking in and just being available when I've needed them. I have not felt alone.

I have also feared for my own safety a lot more. Before, in the back of my mind, I knew that if something happened to me, Rowan would have Aimee. Now I'm it. I am more cautious than I used to be. More paranoid in dark parking lots, that sort of thing. I don't know if that will change. Perhaps it shouldn't.

There have been others. Fear about being a terrible parent. Fear that I won't find love again. Fear that our household won't be able to get by on one income. And so on and so forth. I have had to either learn that the fear was unfounded (I'm not a terrible parent), or that I'll just have to do what I can to address it, such as simply being more careful with my health and well-being.

I have chosen to live, but I will not do so enveloped in fear.

Sandy Hook

I'm upset. Angry. Heartbroken.

I keep seeing two images from the deadly tragedy. The first is a line of children being led across a parking lot, and one little girl in particular is sobbing. And I think about how horrendous it is when children are forced to face death in ways even most adults shouldn't have to. I think of the terrible fear those poor kids must have felt when the gunshots started. I think of kids that saw their friends or teachers being shot, and how that trauma is going to be with them for life.

I think of kids trying to figure out how to cope with the death of people they knew and loved. I think of how children that young should never have to face death in such a close, personal way. I think of that because after a year of watching Rowan go through it I know how hard it is.

The other image that stays with me is the image of a man, presumably a father of one of the victims, leaning with his head against a car window, crying (now I can't find it again). While I do know loss, I can't fathom the loss of my child, especially in such a senseless, tragic way. I pray to God I never do know that pain (and I think of Donna as I say that).

I have been fighting tears all day. I'm sure I'm especially sensitive to this due to the nearness of the one year anniversary of Aimee's death, but I've been more sensitive to these types of things ever since she died last year. The empathy I feel for people who experience sudden loss has been magnified dramatically since last December. I imagine parents, husbands, or wives getting that phone call or that knock on the door, and getting that terrible news. Thinking of them going through that brings back with sick clarity the moment when Justin came through the door of that house with the news that Aimee was dead, and remembering that what made it hit home was seeing those policemen and others standing at the door. That's when I knew without a doubt that this was real. And then my mind goes back to these families going through that experience themselves, and my heart just breaks all over again for every one of them.

The only hope I have is this:

And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:4, NKJV

That verse (which was at the end of Aimee's tribute video) is one of the greatest comforts in times like this. I know not everyone believes what I believe, and that's fine. But for me, I can not imagine how I could possibly have any hope in this world if I didn't know in my heart that ultimately God will redeem all the bad and evil for good, and that His perfect will and justice will prevail.

_______________________________________________________________
PS. I know many people feel very strongly about gun rights and gun control laws in when events like this happen. I would ask that this blog post not be used for those discussions. There are more appropriate forums for those discussions, and I prefer to focus on more universal concepts at this time, such as our shared grief over tragedies such as this. Thanks.

Moving forward, marching on

In one week from today, I will scatter Aimee's ashes, saying a final goodbye to the woman I loved so much, built a life with, and had a child with. I never, ever wanted this to be how our life together ended. I still wish, every single day, that it hadn't.

In pictures like this, you can
see how much Rowan loved
her mommy

But of the many things I learned from Aimee, one of them was to live your life. It would be so easy for me to stay focused on what I've lost, and try and hold on to feelings, scents, objects, and never let go and never move on. But that's not living. In fact, living that way indefinitely would be a kind of living death in its own way.

My goal has been to learn how to live, and to move on, without trying to forget Aimee or do anything to dishonor her memory. It hasn't been easy to move on, because many days I have wanted to just sit at home and stare at photos or videos of Aimee for hours on end. And sometimes, I do in fact indulge that for an hour or two here and there. It feels good to remember how much fun we had and how much love we had for each other. But, to quote someone near and dear to me, "Life should be lived for the living." To me that includes first and foremost Rowan, but also family and friends, as well as new people who come into my life.

So as I look back over the last ten months, and at how these posts that I've written have progressed, I can see that my efforts are paying off. It was extremely difficult at first. In fact, I had to pretend I was getting on with my life, because I didn't feel it at all. But now, I do feel it. Things are different. Not happy-go-lucky all the time or without pain, but that crushing weight of grief is no longer ever-present on my shoulders.

I honestly believe that would make Aimee happy.

Am I angry at God?

Most people who know me know that I am a Christian. As such, I've been asked multiple times "about my faith." This question comes in various forms, but in the end, they're all trying to get to one thing.

Am I angry at God because of Aimee's death?

The question makes complete sense. After all, I truly believe and often said that Aimee was a gift from God to me. No one likes it when our most precious gifts are taken back, do we? I also believe that God is omnipotent, and that therefore He could have saved Aimee's life. So if God could have saved Aimee and didn't, it could be argued that my loss (and the loss of so many others) is God's fault, right?

Well, I can't really say I think God is 'at fault', because to me that would imply a flaw or imperfection - that God made a mistake. And since hold to traditional Christian doctrine - that God is perfect and without flaw - the position that this is God's 'fault' doesn't work for me. But what I can say is that at that moment, as in all others, God was in control, and as such, He allowed Aimee to die that day.

My life verse, Romans 8:28, states that:
"And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according toHis purpose." NKJ version

Early on after Aimee's death I said that I didn't think that would mean that things would always work for my good. But that's actually contrary to what this verse says. It does in fact state clearly that all things work together for good for those that love God. That includes me.

So, let's review my beliefs to this point:

• God does not make mistakes.
• God was in control and allowed Aimee to die. 
• All things will work together for good, for me and all those who love God. Now that may not be the way I envision it or hope for it, but that doesn't mean it won't be for my good.

And where does that leave me? That despite the pain I have felt over Aimee's death, someday and in some way the end result of this will be for my good. And I believe for Rowan's good as well.

And this, my friends, lies at the very heart of my recovery from this tragic ordeal. For if I could not believe that God was infallible, or if I thought God could not control events on earth, or that He did not care for me and what happens to me or to Rowan, I could not possibly have much hope for my future at all.

Does that mean I have not gotten angry at God? Well, the most part, I haven't. There have been a few brief moments, but I always come back to the three points above. That and to Job, who while suffering greatly responded to his wife's complaints, "Shall we accept good from the Lord and not the bad?" (my paraphrase).

So no, I am not angry with God. And I believe that in the next life, God in His mercy will reveal to me the breadth of the good that came from both Aimee's life and her death (like the people who are helped by this blog), and I am certain that I will not be able to argue with the perfection and beauty of God's ultimate plan.

One last thing. The above arguments apply to Aimee, too. Meaning, I sincerely believe that her death was what was best for Aimee as well. I don't know why, and never will this side of heaven, but I'm certain of it. Maybe Aimee would have gotten cancer, or had some other horrible condition or accident befall her. Maybe it would have been more than she, I, or Rowan could have borne. I don't know. All I do know is that what happened, as bad as it has been, is for the best.

Nine long months, Part 2

Through his blog, I have tended more to write about the hard parts of loss and grief, with much less space dedicated to the recovery from it. Well in this post, written nine months to the day after Aimee's death, I want to write about where I am after going through nine months of grief, sadness, and above all, healing.

First, let's be clear about something: I miss Aimee. I really do. She was an amazing, special, incredible woman to everyone who knew her, and I had the honor and pleasure of knowing her more intimately than nearly anyone else. But as much as I loved her and still miss her, Aimee is not and was not my entire life, especially since Rowan was born.

Over the past nine months, I have worked on healing the gigantic hole her death left in my life. And I've done so by focusing on creating new memories, and strengthening the bond I have with my daughter. I also never tried to bottle up or push down or drown my grief, but just took deep breaths and dealt with it. And slowly but surely, I am coming into a new place of being able to find joy in life again. Joy not just in Rowan, but in my own life as well.

I know that the next few months are going to present me with some potentially horrific days. Scattering Aimee's ashes on October 25. The anniversary of her death on December 18. And, well, that entire roughly two weeks from then until the end of the year.

So as I stand here today, I am not "fully healed", whatever that might mean. I am not done feeling grief, or sadness, or loss. I will probably feel those in moments now and then for the rest of my life. Most especially when it comes to Rowan's milestones, I know I will wish that Aimee had had the chance to see them, knowing how much she absolutely adored her little one, just as I do.

But I am moving forward.

I can do so because I am strong. Not on my own, but through God who strengthens me, through the love, prayers, and support of countless people from family to strangers.. Acts of friendship and kindness of endless magnitude and tiniest measure, all held me up and gave me hope. My mental state today is the end product of all the people who have loved me and cared for me since last December 18. I owe so much that I can never hope to repay.

I am still recovering, and I still have weak moments. I sometimes struggle with loneliness, especially after having had such a wonderful marriage. I miss that fulfillment in my life. But more and more firmly each day, I place one foot in front of the other, and I walk through life.

And as I do so, I hold the hand of my little angel and bring her with me, showing her the beauty that still exists in this world, as I myself learn to see it again.

Finding mommy

For the last eight-plus months, I've been working towards being the best single parent I can be. For me, that means trying to figure out how and when to be mommy vs. being daddy. Knowing when to be a problem solver or protector, versus a listener or comforter. And of course getting all the 'mommy' stuff done plus the 'daddy' stuff as well. It's not that I think each parent doesn't play all of these roles, but, at least on our family, typical gender roles were more or less the norm. That meant that when Aimee died, I felt like I needed to find my own inner mommy.

It's been a journey, that's for sure.

But I think I'm starting to get a little of what it can feel like at times. I took Rowan out of town for the weekend for some daddy/daughter bonding time. We got back earlier this evening, and tomorrow she starts back up at her preschool. This is what my evening was like, both in my head and what I actually did. Does this sound familiar to you parents, especially single ones?



Rowan is excited about the
"Disney princess" lip gloss I
let her get.

Pulling in the driveway. Mind flashing to what food was in the fridge and cupboards when I left. Do I have dinner? Do I have what I need for Rowan's lunches this week or even tomorrow? No. Need a store run. Better prepare Rowan now before we even get out of the car, since I know she won't want to get back in the car after the four hours we just spent in it. "Hey, Rowan? We're going to have to run to the store in a little bit after I get the car unloaded. OK, honey?" Expected groan from the back seat. "It'll be a quick trip to the store, then we'll go out to eat." Expected uptick in response to that - Rowan like to go out to eat, just like me. OK, dog's out of the car, Rowan's unbuckled, trunk is popped open, bags, suitcases, guitar all loaded on my arms. Door open, Rowan's TV show on so I can unload and put away things quickly. Dirty clothes tossed towards washer. Call to mom, yes, we're home, had fun, lots to do. Reload Rowan into the car. Safeway - lunch meat, cheese, small veggies easily packed for lunches. OK, check, head for restaurant. Dinner, no hope at getting her to eat something healthy tonight, but almost never any healthy options on kids menus anyway. Back home, Rowan's now in the tub, load of laundry started. Back to the bathroom to wash her hair, get her out, dry her off. Clean jammies on and back to the couch to watch a show before bed (normally she only gets one show in the morning and one before bed - the electronic babysitter earlier is a rare exception). I watch with her as a brief break, but also because I need to brush her hair out after her bath, plus learn how to talk like these characters because she WILL ask me to do so soon. Show over, brushing teeth, and glad I paid attention to show because sure enough I've suddenly been conscripted to role play as Captain Hook and his sidekick Smee from the Disney Jr. show we just watched. Meanwhile teeth are clean and now settling in to read stories, say our prayer, and lights out. Straight back to kitchen, do dishes (good LORD I should have done some of these before I left and NOT left them soaking because the smell is nasty). Kitchen finally clean and I start making Rowan's lunch, pause to put clothes in dryer and start new load. Back to Rowan's room to check on her - she's fast asleep so I kiss her head and go back to the kitchen to finish making her lunch. Clothes out of the dryer, wet clothes in the dryer, now... um, ok, now I can sit down and write a blog post. But quickly. It's now after midnight, and I have to get up early. I want to make sure we have plenty of time to get ready and get the new school year off to a good start. Oh, except I still need to fold these clothes and put them away...

Deep breath.

Like I said, sound familiar, parents?

When I spoke to my mom earlier, I said to her that this is one of the times I miss having a spouse from a purely logistical standpoint. But even when I said it, I knew I could and would get everything done. Single parenting is as old as time, and LOTS of people have done as well or better with a lot less to work with. It's just that for whatever reason, women seem to do this better than men, or maybe that's just my perception (not the necessarily kid-raising part, I mean the planning, organizing, getting all this crap done part). At any rate, it's taken me some time to get the hang of this, but I'm getting there.

And as I hinted at earlier, it's not just getting all the tasks done. I'm getting better at figuring out when to turn male-brain off and turn female-brain on. "Oh, she doesn't want me to tell her she fell down because she wasn't watching where she was going or that if her friend upset her she should find better friends. She just wants me to hold her, stroke her hair, kiss her forehead, empathize with her, and make her feel better. OK, I can do that..." I'm trying to figure out the finer points of putting outfits together so that when all of this sudden this matters to her, I'm ready. And I notice cute girl clothes in the stores now (and when they're on sale). I converse with sitters and teachers about her care and her current mental state. I bring home books from the library, some that teach moral lessons and some that are just fun. I role play with her, and as such I voice characters from TV shows and movies, sip 'tea' at tea parties (water I sincerely hope is from the bathroom SINK), or make her toy unicorns fly through the air and guide them through an adventure to rescue a princess from an evil witch. And lastly, when her voice is breaking and she's telling me that she's just really sad because she misses her mommy right now, I hold her close and I tell her I miss mommy too. And I wish I could soak the pain right out of her and into myself so that she didn't have to bear this huge burden on her little shoulders.

Because that's what mommies (and daddies) do.

What I prayed tonight

Earlier tonight was rough. Rowan was having tummy pain and I had a hard time finding something that made her feel better enough to go to sleep. I was finally successful at about half past 10.

A couple of hours later I was getting ready to go to bed myself (trying to get more than 3-4 hours of sleep these days). As I let the dog out to do her business, I decided I needed to spend a few minutes outside under the stars, talking to God. Here is what I said.

"God, thanks for Rowan going to sleep. I pray whatever was wrong with her tummy is gone now, and she gets a good night's sleep (so I can too). I really love that little girl.

It's in moments like these when I miss Aimee, not only because she would have handled this, but because she would have known how to. If she's up there with You right now, please tell her I love her and I miss her. Tell her that I always think about all those times when she said she felt confident that I could raise Rowan if anything ever happened to her, and that I try to prove her right, no mater how lost I sometimes feel.

I hope I appreciated her enough when she was here. I think I did, I know I thanked You for her frequently and I worked to show Aimee by words and actions how much she meant to me. But if I fell short, please also tell her that too. She was an incredible gift from You.

I never wanted You to take her away from me.

And Lord, please tell her I hope she understands that I'm starting to look for someone else who can come into our lives. It's not that I didn't love her that much. In fact, in some ways it's because of my great love for her that I want to move on. She showed me what a wonderful, amazing thing a great marriage was, and I miss that. She taught me about the importance of each parent to a child, and I want a mother for Rowan. She opened my eyes to all the ways I could be a good husband and father, and she did it without saying much, but through her great example, and I really long to have a partner like that again, but as a wife and as a fellow parent. I miss loving someone like that.

Tell Aimee that Rowan misses her too. She says it a lot more now than she used to, and she cries more often. But she also seems to know that she can come to me and cry to me and that she's safe with me. Let Aimee know that as much as Rowan can be right now, she is happy, even in her grief.

So Lord, help me be a great father, especially now. And when I go up to Rowan's room in a few minutes and lean over and kiss the top of her head as she sleeps, I'll pray to You again soon, this time for her health and well-being and her future.

Thank You for listening to me.

In Jesus' name,
Amen."

From my other sister, Samantha

Today I'm posting an entry from my sister Samantha, who shared her reflections and thoughts about Aimee's death. (You can find the posts from my sister Shannon here and here.) 

Samantha and Aimee,
October 2011

This post has been very hard for me to write. Not because I have a lack of words, but rather too many. The life and death of such an amazing woman and her impact cannot be summed up easily.

With all sincerity I will say Aimee is one of the most beautiful people I have ever known. I loved her tremendously. There was no effort in it. I was always so excited to see her and just being in her presence gave me great pleasure. Aimee was particularly special to me. I am very reserved with people. Yet from the get go when Aimee and I talked, or gave each other “a look”, it was clear. I loved this woman! She was full of life, love and just the right amount of “one tough cookie”. I can’t help but smile through my tears as I remember her.

The last time I saw Aimee was on Thanksgiving. We did the dishes together and joked around. That memory is the hardest for me because I truly enjoyed our time together and it would be the last time I saw her. I admired her hair color and she said she would send me a message later as I was going to dye it the same color. A few days later she messaged me with the color name and joked that it was “top secret”. That was the last time I talked to her.  Patrick and Aimee headed for Florida and I kept up with them on Facebook expecting to see them again around Christmas. They were having fun and I didn’t have any worries. My own Facebook status the night before Aimee died stood out to me AFTER the events that took place. I had no inclination or bad feeling and am not implying that. I post Scripture a lot but the night before was James 4:14.  

“How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning fog--it's here a little while, then it's gone.”

- Life is short no matter how many years we live. Don't be deceived into thinking that you have lots of remaining time to live for Christ, to enjoy your loved ones, or to do what you know you should. Live for God today! Then, no matter when your life ends, you will have fulfilled God's plan for you. ~Jos~~

The next day came that phone call…. My mom “you need to sit down”.  Me crying out, “it must be a mistake! No!” The kids and I were taking family Christmas pictures when I got that call. I tried to get away from the kids as fast as possible being suddenly aware that my reaction was probably scaring them. I was in absolute shock. It was mostly a blur after that. I remember crying out to God. I remember trying to reach my husband who is deployed in Afghanistan and having no way of reaching him except to wait for him to call. I was thinking “I need my husband to comfort me!!!” and immediately realizing in absolute horror that my brother must so desperately want the comfort of his dear wife but she would not be returning to him, ever…. I wanted to go to Florida.  I wanted to fly down immediately to be with him. I kept thinking of my brother thousands of miles away from home dealing with this. I wanted to hug him desperately. I don’t know who told me that it would not help as he would be back by the time I got there. Either he did or my mother, I don’t remember.  That was one of those moments when you feel completely helpless to do anything. I prayed a lot! Time seemed to stand still. At the same time I knew I had to hold it together for those around me. My kids were all very upset about their Aunt. I couldn’t sleep at all. When I got to my brother’s house I sobbed in the car before I went in and then composed myself before entering. I went over to play with Rowan and she saw I sniffled. Immediately she said “I will get you a tissue!” When she brought it to me I said “I just have a little stuffy nose hon”. She looked at me and said “my mommy drowned and it is sad” in a very sweet way. Heartbreak… “Oh God” must have uttered from my heart a thousand times that day and the ones to follow. I went upstairs while my sons played downstairs with Rowan. I watched my brother, Justin, Caroline, my mom, my sister, and other people coming and going as if it was in slow motion. Surreal is the only word I have for it. So much pain... The memorial came and when my brother and Bart sang “Aimee’s Song” I sobbed uncontrollably.

I couldn’t sleep at night as I kept thinking about how Aimee died. When I closed my eyes at I would imagine her frantic to get out of that boat. The desperation to see her little girl and her beloved husband kept replaying in my mind. My husband gave me the advice to “Focus on Where she is, not how she got there” and I have ever since. I do not let my mind wander to that boat. The fact is I do not know what happened in those last moments. I wasn’t there but God was. I had to remind myself that God is good, to trust Him and to rest in Him.  

In all this is my deep love for my brother and Rowan. How my heart breaks for them. How much my heart breaks for my brother….  No matter how old we are he is still my “big bro”. I see him go on, move through the days and I look in his eyes and wish I could reach out and take it away. I know I do not understand exactly what he feels and I also know there is absolutely nothing I can do or say to take away his hurt. So again I am reminded to look to God and pray. And again I rest in knowing that God is good and He is with my brother and Rowan, I can see it. I find peace in knowing that our beloved Aimee is with the Lord and I will see her beautiful smile once again and it will be for eternity. As real and painful as these sorrows are now I know there will come a day when it will all be a distant memory and my brother will once again embrace his Aimee without fear of loss. Rowan will know her mommy.  And in that day, I will smile at the sight of it all.  Yes, God is very good <3

Dating again

OK, so you had to know this topic was going to come up sooner or later...

As time has passed, I have begun to look to the future, and focus less on the past. And one way that I'm looking forward is thinking about beginning to date again.

First, let's cover something very important. Most members of my and Aimee's immediate family, especially Aimee's mother, are supportive of me getting on with my life (in a dating sense of the word). In fact Donna has been encouraging me to begin dating again for some time, although she hasn't been pushy about it.



Aimee and I were often silly together. It
was one of the best parts of our relationship.

So back to that weird place I'm in. On the one hand, I am and have been quite lonely since Aimee's death. A normal reaction, I'm certain. Furthermore, I LOVED being married. I'm certain having the wife I did had a lot to do with that, but I miss terribly that level of love, affection, play and so on that made such an intimate relationship so special. And I have no doubt that there is someone else out there with whom I can share that again.

There is also Rowan (lest anyone foolishly thought this was all about me). She has steadfastly expressed, repeatedly over time, that she wants a mommy. She said as much to me again the day before yesterday. (In her Disney Princess level knowledge of life and 'love', she doesn't understand why this request can't be filled in the fairly immediate future. Don't I just go to the Royal Ball and dance with Cinderella or find some random sleeping princess and kiss her?) I want Rowan to have a mother, and not just any mother, but a great one. Further, Aimee and I were so adamant about treating each other with love, kindness, and respect at all times, but especially in front of Rowan. Why? We knew that we would set up her expectations for what her own marriage should look like. Without the right partner to model that with for her, I feel like some valuable lessons may get missed (though I admit this is a little bit less of a concern, as I feel there are some lessons along these lines I can teach her in other ways).

And finally, I can honestly say that I do have the capacity to have feelings for someone else, though growth of any relationship will have to take time.

But then there's the other side of things. I'm worried that getting into a relationship with me any time in the near future might be something like dating someone with a serious illness. You know they'll probably recover someday, but you also know that you're probably not getting them at their best, fullest ability right now. That doesn't seem completely fair. How do I balance being available to someone, and being open with them about who I am and how I feel, but not burden them with someone else I used to love (and in many ways always will) when I have tough days? And trust me, I'm not self-delusional enough to think that tough days are over (ha!) or will end after a few more months or after the one year anniversary or any other marker. I'm guessing tough days will appear, though with less frequency over time, for many years to come.

All that to say, I'm thinking about it. I haven't been on a first date in almost nine years. Of course, dating back then was a lot simpler, since I was just looking for someone for me. Now I'm looking for someone for both me and Rowan (at least eventually). And marriage, if and when that day comes again, is a long way off no matter what. I want to make sure that I'm pretty certain about a potential spouse before I really begin to get them much involved in Rowan's life. The last thing I want is for Rowan to get attached to someone and have it not work out. Another significant loss in her life, especially of a person she might see in a mother role, is something I'd really like to avoid. She took it hard enough when her first post-Aimee babysitter took another job. Daddy life and dating life will stay separated for quite some time.

There's one more thing I consider. Life is short and unpredictable. I now know that all too well. What if in fact I do only have weeks or months left? Is it good for me to stay alone, unhappily so, just because some people might think I should? Should the opinions of others even be importnat? I think not. I need to live my own life, and I can't worry about what people who aren't living my life think about how I'm doing so.

So, I don't know exactly when, but I do plan on moving into this next phase of life again soon. For my sake and ultimately for Rowan's as well.

The calm between two storms

I'm in a period of relative calm right now. In fact, I feel almost happy.

It hit the weekend of the six month mark since Aimee's death, and it hit so suddenly I almost felt a physical change. I mean, I actually felt the sadness, like a weight, get dramatically less. And it's stayed that way ever since. At first I felt like I'd turned a corner, and that maybe I was in a new stage of recovery from the loss.

I feel better when it's sunny. What'll happen
this winter?

But maybe it's just a vacation.

In April and into early May, I faced a gauntlet of tough dates. Follow that through to the six month mark, and it was a hard road to walk. Then, with the passing of that marker and the beginning of summer (I always feel better when it's sunny), I suddenly felt better. But I don't think it's going to last.

Just as I faced a gauntlet of dates this past spring, so I face another in late fall into early winter. It looks like this:

• October 25: The date Aimee and I met. It is on this date that I plan to scatter her ashes on Mt. Pilchuck, which we hiked on the day we met.
• October 31: We met up on a singles Halloween cruise, and it was that night that we really hit it off. I asked her out for our first date that night.
• November 2: Our first date.
• Thanksgiving: It's hard to quickly define this one, except to say that it has to do with Terry's (Aimee's dad) last weeks alive. (He died December 19, 2010.)
• December 18: The one-year anniversary of Aimee's death.
• December 20: Leaving Florida without Aimee.
• December 29: Aimee's memorial.

It's also possible that December 23 will be a tough day. Although Aimee and I never really marked that day as a couple, it is the anniversary of the day I proposed to her.

For now, I feel like I've been granted a bit of a reprieve. I still miss Aimee, and I still have tough moments, even times I still cry. And I'd even say those moments are still fairly frequent. But the overall feeling of grief is a lot less than it was.

I better enjoy it while it lasts.

If I got a surprise visit from Aimee today...

A few days ago I had this sudden vision out of nowhere: what would Aimee see if she suddenly dropped by for a visit? How much have things changed? And, how would it make her feel?

When we left for Florida (the last time Aimee saw this house):

• It was spotless;
• Rowan was three years old;
• She also still used a binky (pacifier);
• And she didn't wear glasses;
• I was 20 pounds lighter;
• The bedrooms still didn't have closet doors;
• There was a blue and white comforter on our bed;
• The bath towels and rug were red, and the shower curtain was white;
• Rowan slept in her old crib, which had been converted to a day bed;
• In addition to our dog Abbey, we also had one of Donna's dogs, Buddy;
• Her clothes hung in the closet and filled her dresser;
• Stacks of her books were in bookcases, and on the end table next to her side of the bed
• And finally, I wore a gold wedding band on the ring finger of my left hand.

But if she came by the house now:

Aimee didn't get to see Rowan move from
her crib to a big-girl bed

• It is chronically a mess;
• Rowan is four years old;
• She doesn't use a pacifier anymore;
• And she wears glasses;
• I'm 20 pounds heavier;
• The bedrooms all have closet doors, as does the basement closet;
• There's a dark red comforter on my bed;
• There are brown bath towels, bath mat, and shower curtain in the bathroom;
• Rowan sleeps in a new (pink) twin bed with new Rapunzel bedding;
• Buddy is at Donna's;
• Aimee's clothes are in large storage bins in the garage;
• Her books are either in the garage or have been given to Goodwill;
• And finally, my wedding band is on a chain around my neck.

There are probably even more changes as well. The point is, life has moved on. Some of it has been just normal 'life' stuff, like Rowan turning four, and getting glasses. Some of it is me intentionally changing things in order to move on, such as moving Aimee's things out and changing the bedding and towels.

As I quickly counted up all the changes, I realized that a lot of things are different now, and I suddenly felt guilty about it, like Aimee would feel like we've (ok, I've) been slowly but surely pushing her out. And I guess, honestly, in some ways I have been. I have to. But then I thought about Aimee and the kind of person she was. She'd want us to move on. She would hate to see us stuck in some weird time-stands-still place where we let as little change as possible to try and preserve the last remnants of her in our lives. Yes, we keep some reminders. There are photos of Aimee up all over the place - the kitchen, living room, basement, and of course in Rowan's room. But I want to have a balance of remembering Aimee and keeping her memory fresh and alive for Rowan, while also acknowledging that we need to get on with our lives, build new memories, write new chapters.

I miss Aimee. Some part of me always will. But we, Rowan and I at least, have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and live this new life. We didn't choose this, but it's the life we have now and we'll live it as best we can and ask God for strength when the days get tough. Things will change. We'll learn how to find our joy and our fun. We'll make new friends. And we will write those new chapters that someday we'll read to Aimee when we see her again.

From 'our house' to 'my house'

Aimee walking around our house on the day the "SOLD"
sign went up, May 1, 2009.

Aimee and I bought our house about three years ago. It was a foreclosure, and had been absolutely trashed by the previous tenants before they left. We moved in about three weeks after we closed, with about 60% of the work having been completed by contractors (the really big stuff). We planned to do the rest on our own.

Little by little since then, Aimee and I worked to fix up our little home. We painted the interior, put new doorknobs on, stuff like that. But we still hadn't finished everything we wanted to do as of last December.

So when Aimee died on December 18, the house, at that point, was "ours" in the sense that everything that went into how it looked was decided upon by both of us.

Since December, I've walked a fine line of trying to keep our house 'same enough' that Rowan feels like it's still her home, while making it different enough to ease the overwhelming reminder of Aimee everywhere. It's one thing to have pictures of Aimee displayed - I think it's critical for Rowan to see those - but some things just needed to be altered enough to make the place a little less 'ours' and a little more 'mine'. I know that might seem cold and heartless to some, but I have to live there, and I need to be able to be comfortable and relax as much as possible. After all, our homes should be our sanctuary, not a cause of more pain.

So first it was new bedding. I moved a few things around. Then new bath towels and mat. After that I moved a lot of Aimee's stuff out - her clothes, makeup, most of her books, stuff like that. More reently, I bought a new shower curtain (the old one had been hers, and for some inexplicable reason, I felt it just had to be replaced).

But not everything I'm doing is changing to be different from when this house was 'ours'. Some of the bigger projects I'm undertaking now were on our wish list before. Especially the two that I initiated this past month, one of which is done and the other which will be completed soon: new heating/AC unit and closet doors on all the bedroom closets.

These two things, especially the closet doors, were a big deal to Aimee, and a part of my feels like I'm carrying on part of her desires for our house by doing these. Don't get me wrong - I would have done them anyway because they were both necessary. But it also doesn't feel like an 'independant' project, if that makes sense.

Overall, though, I feel driven to make the house a little less 'Aimee' in feel, because it's just too hard sometimes.

I feel good about the changes. Some of them are for me, and some are for the things Aimee and I always wanted to do to the house. But there is also sadness, because with every change I make without Aimee, I remove a piece of her from the house. It's necessary, and good both for me and for the house, but this continual process of letting go is difficult.

The making of a modern single father

I do not know what most of today's fathers are like. I know what MY father was like (we're not even going to go there!), and I'm not much like he was. He had a lot of faults, but in some ways his attitudes about being a father were fairly typical of his generation: child rearing was for the women, his job is to go earn the living. His involvement in my life was mostly restricted to discipline or assigning work.

When Aimee and I found out we were going to be parents, we talked about what we saw our roles as being. We both agreed that my role should be considerably more involved than my father had been. I would help with the tasks of raising Rowan from Day 1, and be more than just a breadwinner, but a parent with whom Rowan had a significant and close relationship with from her earliest years.

So, this was how we proceeded, with me helping with feedings, changings (yuck), and other parts of raising her. But more than that, I spent time with her, playing, reading, etc. As she got a little older, we did daddy/daughter dates. She helped me when I worked in the yard or did laundry.

Yes, I have a goofy daddy,
but I love him

But, there were differences. For example, while I sometimes travelled for work for several days at a time (up to 10-11 for some trips), and took the occasional trip to Phoenix to visit my best friend. During these, Aimee was often parenting solo. Me? I never had to do that, and the thought of it terrified me. My longest stretch alone with Rowan as of December 18, 2011, was about 8-9 hours. Never even once overnight.

When Aimee died, this was one of the things that I was dreading - being a single parent. The lack of someone else to 'tag-team' with was bad enough, but going days on end on my own? God help me. And God help poor Rowan. But there was one thing going very much in my favor. My involvement with Rowan meant that we already had a close love and bond. Plus, it meant I knew the basics of how to care for her. I knew where her clothes were, I knew her routines, and I knew how to handle her moods, fits, and fears. I wasn't starting from scratch.

Well, we're going on seven months now. That knowledge has helped immensely. So has Donna's frequent help, plus the occasional break provided by friends here and there. But as expected, I've had to step up and be a single dad. And as much as I've felt inadequate at times (see also "Single parenting, I didn't sign up for this" and "I make a lousy mommy"), I know that on the whole I am making this work. I've cared for her when she's been sick. I've weaned her off of her pacifier (without scarring her). Threw her a birthday party, bought clothes that fit her, made sure she saw a counselor when she's needed it, and most importantly, showed her love and let her grieve in her own way. Much of how I am raising Rowan and coping with these circumstances is due to things I learned from Aimee. Between her degree in early childhood development, training in childhood grief and trauma, and her amazing empathy and love, I picked up a ton more knowledge from her than I would have thought possible.

She used to say to me with some regularity, in a very happy and proud tone, "Patrick, I want you to know that I am very confident that if something ever happened to me, you'd do a great job taking care of Rowan." I'd typically tease her and tell her she was off her rocker. And in all seriousness, I DID think she was off her rocker. I felt like a competent father with her by my side, but had serious doubts I could do this it on my own.

Now, there are days when I am just clicking as a dad, when doctor's appointments are scheduled and clothes are clean and food is fixed and Rowan is happy, and I WISH WISH WISH Aimee could see me and I could see her and I could say to her, "Love, you were right. I doubted you, but you were right. I CAN do this, thanks to you." And she'd smile her sweet, proud smile that she gave me more often than I deserved and she'd nod and tell me I don't give myself enough credit and that I am a good man and that's why she married me. I know this because she said those things to me often.

I want Aimee to be proud of the job I'm doing. I think on the whole, she would be.

Vacation Paradox, Part II

Over the last few months, I've shared a lot about the pain I and others have gone through and are going through. There are several reasons I've been doing this. First, it seems to help me a LOT. Secondly, from what I'm hearing it's helping others a lot as well. I feel like there may be people reading this now or some time later who is going through something similar, and when they read some of the posts maybe they'll feel like they're not as alone in what they're going through, or that some of their own experiences make sense contextualized with someone else's. Who knows, I just want this to help someone else, if possible. Plus, I plan to save all of this one day for Rowan, so that she can read what we went through and add it to her own experience when she gets older (if she's interested, that is).

But one of the things I realized is that because this blog is focused on pain, that's all you ever see in my life. And there is a lot of that, make no mistake. But all of life is NOT pain. Not even my life right now. This mini vacation I just took with Rowan is an example of that.

"C'mon, Daddy, let's do this again!"

In my post the other day, I recalled so many activities we did that were like deja vu of things we'd done in Florida, and I talked about how tough that was. Well yesterday was a very different day. We filled it with some new stuff, and there were no deja vu moments to be found. In fact, we discovered that Rowan has a deep affinity for... bumper cars! Oh yes, my sweet little angel has a rough streak in her as well (she comes by it naturally!). "Get THAT one, Daddy!!!" she'd yell, pointing at yet another soon-to-be victim of our rampaging in the bumper car venue. We rode them at least a dozen times, probably more, throughout the day, and only about 15 minutes before they closed did Rowan finally seem satisfied that we'd caused enough carnage. I've rarely been as proud as a father. :)

The point is, we had a good day. We had fun, laughed a LOT, and really enjoyed ourselves and each other. Days like this are too few right now, but that makes them all the more precious. I will remember yesterday for a long time, because it was filled with the kind of memories I've set out to try and create for Rowan. I want her to know that the pain of her mommy dying may be there with her all the time, but that doesn't mean that it has to rule us every minute. I want her to see that you can still live, enjoying life and the experiences that it offers. You can still find those moments when laughter takes over and you giggle yourself silly because some other daddy and his little girl just got blind-sided by the psychotic bald guy and his equally maniacal (while clad in pink kitty-cat raincoat) three year old daughter who's now yelling and pointing at another hapless victim, "Go get THAT one now, Daddy!!!"

Our last (family) supper

During a conversation with Caroline last night, I realized that Aimee's last meal was toast. And that was practically forced on her by me (see "Aimee's Last Day"). That seemed really sad, so I then recalled what we'd had for dinner the night before. That was a much better memory.

That Saturday night, we were trying to determine what to do for dinner. The big question was, do we go out and spend some money on a nice seafood dinner, or do we go to the store and buy some good seafood we can prepare at the house. After searching the local options, we decided on the latter choice - buying food and eating in. I volunteered to be our family ambassador to the store.

I scored us a nice deal - lobster tails at a pretty good price - and picked up some great accompaniments to go with them. Then between the various members of the family, we put together a really nice meal. We all sat down together, there in the vacation house, and had some great conversation with great food.

And as I sit here writing this, I just recalled what Aimee did during that dinner. After we started eating, she told us she wanted each one of us to say something that we admired about the person across from us. She and Justin had each other. Donna and I had each other. And Rowan and Caroline were paired up (so Aimee said something for Caroline).

It was a really nice, sweet moment, and exactly the type of thing Aimee did - create goodwill and harmony between those around her. She spread love in her own way wherever and whenever she could. We could have skipped that moment and had a really nice dinner, but her effort that night has a chance to make a difference if we'll just remember it and try to replicate it ourselves with others around us.

And to think, in the enormity of the tragedy of the next day, I almost lost that moment. Thank God I got it back.