These so-sudden, so-senseless tragedies hit home. And hit home big.
I remember what it was like. I remember July 10th. I remember going to work. I remember getting Jovi dressed. I remember her outfit was too small and leaving an extra with her grandma. I remember getting off early. And I remember going to run at the gym. I remember getting eggs and mushrooms at the store on my way home. I remember coming home. I remember kissing my sweet babies hello and telling them how I missed them. I remember putting Cash down for a nap. And snuggling Jovi on the couch. I remember her getting tired. And grouchy. And I remember putting her down for a nap. Life was so normal. Life was so good. I remember doing homework. I remember falling asleep.
I remember waking up. And getting a glass of water. And texting my husband how all I wanted to eat was candy. I remember needing to go to Target. Cash needed shoes for a wedding. Life was so normal. So freaking normal. And I wanted to do something very normal. I just wanted to wake Jovi up to go to Target.
And then, I remember the minute I got to the door. And I heard her alarm going off. And that was the very second my life changed forever.
I remember the panic.
I remember the sheer panic.
I remember the 911 call.
I remember sobbing and counting chest compressions.
And I remember seeing my dad.
And handing Jovi off to him.
Crumbling to the ground and just simply wanting to barf. I will never forget.
I remember the car ride. The sirens.
I remember the face of the lady I first saw when I entered the ER. I remember the room she was in. And hearing a voice asking if the mom had arrived.
I remember someone finally telling us it wasn't good and being allowed to come in. I remember seeing her and not understanding how she wasn't back and why she just looked like she was sleeping and how now I was suddenly being told she was gone.
I remember asking to hold her. And asking her to come back and not to leave.
I remember it all. I remember how she smelled like the hospital and not herself and that bothered me. I remember how her daddy cried when he held her and I remember the flood of loving people who stood by our side while we said goodbye.
I remember signs of death and wanting to barf again. And feeling the need to leave now. I remember walking out of the ER with sun shining in my face. Clutching the outfit I left for her to wear just hours before... And how the world was still going and how mine had now suddenly and without warning ended.
And I didn't understand.
I feel for this family. I remember that very second. I remember the aftermath and the months of waking up feeling bliss only to remember you are actually living your nightmare.
How I wish we were the last to lose... And to suffer.
I want to give his wife and babies a big hug and tell her life is really shitty right now. It really is. And nothing anyone says or does will really make it better at this point.
But- the fog will slowly start to life. And you won't feel so much like you are drowning. Slowly you will find what is a new normal as life never goes back to how it was. How time has now changed. It was before he died and life now after. They are two separate times. And how you are so changed and such a different person now.
I want to tell her she will, one day, find herself smiling a non-forced smile and a genuine laugh will come from her.
I want to stress that this life is still worth it. And that she will start to see good again, but that she doesn't have to right now because life is just real shitty at this time.
Hang in there, precious family. Know you are on the entire communities hearts (mine so very much). Feel all the feels. You can do this.