Today is the 4th anniversary of my beloved, Ron Weiler’s death. I am sure many would expect a post about how much I miss him today and how today is set apart from each and every day as more significant than the others. It isn’t and I won’t. Today is just like every day without him; sad, magnificent, heartbreaking, joyful, lonely, full of adventure, scary, new, transforming and so much more. There are no absolutes and grief, however intense is not one sided. I miss him terribly each and every day so this day, regardless of its significance can’t make my grief or my joy any better or worse. Today is just today – ordinary. His death forced me to move to Plan B, far sooner than I had expected. I have also set up a plan C, D, E and F… just in case. For now, though, I will just keep on kicking the SHIT out of my Plan B.
It’s funny how extraordinary the ordinary can be. Did you get up and have your morning cup of coffee to start the day? Did you sit with your spouse or friend or kids and talk about nothing in particular? You wouldn’t say to someone later “OMG! Let me tell you about my morning cup of coffee!” because, in the scheme of our day to day lives, it just doesn’t rate. Let me tell you about a cup of coffee that will always remain significant and memorable. On the morning of June 14th, 2012, I drove my little one to school and returned to a fresh pot of coffee made by my husband. He was always so thoughtful like that. We chatted about nothing much in particular while we each poured a cup of the steaming goodness. We sat at our dining room table just feet away from each other and sipped while we talked. I do not remember what we talked about really, just that we were able to take a breather from the craziness of the previous week and just be us. We laughed and talked about our kids, life our home, business, you know, “ordinary stuff”. Then, one of our older kids, Timothy, walked in the door to show off his new EMT uniform. He had been hired to a job he had worked very hard to get and was just getting off his first training shift. Tim was proud and thrilled to show us and to show off. We talked for a bit, took a picture and he left to go home and sleep. Then, Ron and I finished our coffee, rinsed the cups and placed them in the sink. We kissed, as we often did because, well even after 12 ½ years together, we were very much in love and kissing was just so…. ordinary. Ron went up to the office to work and I went about my morning. That was the last cup of coffee we shared – ever. That night, my world was shattered, my heart ripped from my chest as his stopped beating in a tragic last gasp.
It’s no accident that I look forward to my cup of coffee every morning. Just one cup, no more, but now, I drink it alone. It is my quiet time to reflect and gather myself for the day. I take a bit of time as I sip at my morning elixir to talk to Ron, share a laugh or work through a problem imagining his input. I wonder what he might think of me now, 4 years later. I didn’t fall apart; in fact, I have done the opposite some might say. I am weeks away from achieving my Master’s in Nursing, I have managed to raise our daughter to be a confident, kind, funny, sweet, generous and intelligent young lady while homeschooling her, working, maintaining a business, purchasing and remodeling an investment property, navigated all the highs and lows of parenting and becoming a grandparent, and all the hiccups and road blocks along the way. I’m not healed or “over it” as some would prefer, it is still my daily reality to feel the ache of missing someone I loved so very much. I asked the question 4 years ago “how will I ever make it? How will I manage?” The answer came in a very non-reassuring way. “You just keep living until you feel alive again”. I am starting to feel it, that soft familiar vibration in my chest. I remember that sensation of a heart beating, when I was alive before all this. It seems, 4 years is about the time when the heart is reminded that it can live again despite the lengthy lapse of life sustaining oxygen or love. It must be time, to feel alive again. Grief must be loosening its grip, if just ever so slightly.
For those reading this today, a very ordinary day I am sure, please do not take for granted your morning cup of coffee or tea. Find gratitude in each moment, each breath. This is all we get and making each day count is our gift and privilege. Those moments with your loved one, treasure them! It’s never guaranteed this life of ours. In a flash, a snap, a nanosecond, your life can be changed forever and your very ordinary day suddenly won’t be so ordinary.
With that, on this 4th anniversary of the crossing over of that man we all knew as Ron Weiler, I will take time today to remember the wonderful man he was, adoring husband, doting father, loving son and brother. He was here and he mattered. He cared deeply for his family and friends, making time regularly to connect. He made a difference because he loved me and our children. Thank you for taking the time to walk down this melancholy road of a couple sweet memories with me, and for connecting to the life that once was, the life of my love, Ron Weiler.
