8 months later

I remember the memorial.  I remember smiling.  I remember laughing, talking, telling stories.  I remember hugging people...comforting those who cried because they felt the loss in some small way, or because it shocked them into realizing it could happen to anybody at any time.  I remember standing as the receiving line made its way through my little grieving room.  I remember avoiding answering the door each day as a different person brought me something I couldn't eat. I remember being grateful.  I remember the days and weeks before.  The soccer game the day before, the burn on his head and shoulders from standing in the sun watching me play, watching our kids. The rollerblading in the parking lot of our apartment, John washing his motorcycles. The buffet the night before at the swimming pool where his company party was held. Watching him swim in the deep end, something he loved. Socializing with other wives, commenting on our children at play. Airalynn in a floating raft, chasing her daddy through the pool. Elenie still so small, she slept in her carrier.  I remember feeling fit and happy, having spent a week doing a soccer camp and loving the athleticism and opportunity.  I remember being happy.  I remember the night he came into the bedroom with his phone and sat it on the pillow as it played his recorded song. The song he had just written. The way he wanted to hear what I thought. How much that meant to me.  I remember that day...the day I lost him. I remember his khaki shorts and white shirt. I remember the ipad - this thing I'm typing on - in his hands, moving back and forth with the game he was playing.  I remember our apartment. Leather furniture we arranged, his idea, like a coffee shop - chairs facing each other by a side table.  I remember watching movies and tv series', one episode after another, together, in those chairs. On that couch.  I remember making coffee...it never turned out quite right, but he drank it anyway. I remember the chocolate syrup, the french vanilla creamer. I remember trying different kinds, a sort of adventure, but always coming back to french vanilla.  I remember the monster drinks. The pepsi max. The venti hazelnut frappucinos. I remember the rented army furniture. I remember marking it with sticky notes the day before I left. I remember Mom and Selina helping me focus and get things done.  I remember watching Soul Surfer on my birthday, and crying in Mom's arms.  I remember the numbness.  I remember March 15, coming "home" finally to our apartment for the first time and seeing what he'd done for us. The bed he put together for Airalynn with a brand new fuzzy spongebob blanket. The way it kept deflating at night and she'd wake up half on the floor in hilarious positions. I remember the kitchen floor mat with a coffee cup on it, the tan colored towels, the bath mats.  I remember meeting Kim the moment I stepped out of the car as she stood on her balcony on the second floor. I was so tired.  I remember wishing I had the energy to appreciate his effort more.  I remember him falling asleep in the chair once we settled into the apartment, completely decked out in his uniform.  I remember cutting his hair every few weeks...I remember loving that he let me, that he wanted me to do that for him.  I remember going to the gym on post for classes 3-5 days a week, free classes where I could take my children.  I remember driving by his office, wishing I could just go in and watch him work. I remember calling his phone just to hear him say "3rd MI ALSE shop, Buffett speaking." Then I would giggle and tell him his voice sounded funny.  I remember the day he graduated flight school and how he had his sister hold onto the necklace he bought for me until the spouses stood for recognition. I remember him putting it on my neck and how I thought it was one of the sweetest things he'd ever done for me.  I remember the surprise party for my 22nd birthday. In Alabama. With our wonderful friends. He planned it and managed to keep it under my radar.  I remember him calling me "bum on bum".  I miss him.