Category Archives: ben

Saying Goodbye . . . Again.

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The last two years have been a rollercoaster of emotions to say the least.  There have been ups and downs to such extremes that it leaves me wondering how I’ve managed to piece together anything that resembles a normal and happy life.  But, hindsight being what it is, I can look back now and recognize the progress I’ve made as a grieving widower and a single father to an amazing little girl.  These past two years have had no shortage of emotional hurdles to overcome, some small and some large, but none as big as saying goodbye to the home that Ali and I built together.  The home we started our married lives together in.  The home we brought Olivia to after she was born.  The home we turned from a shabby little fixer upper into an award winning showcase property (according to the Price Hill Press!).  In many ways it felt like the last vestige of the life that we set out to build together.  It felt as though leaving that house would be the first step in a new life that Olivia and I would build together. . .without Ali.

We said goodbye to Ali two years ago but her presence has remained undeniable in that house.  Every square inch of it was carefully and thoughtfully decorated by her and it was as if she had never left.   I remember, in the days and weeks after she died, it was impossibly difficult to live there day in and day out with constant reminders of the loss we all suffered.  I walked around the house with blinders on just trying to avoid looking at every little item that she left behind.  And slowly those reminders of the pain turned in to little moments of comfort.  I knew she was gone but I could look at her things, all those untouched little artifacts, and know that she was there with me.   I found comfort in bottles of shampoo and drawers full of socks and jewelry still neatly organized.  But always in the back of my mind I knew I would eventually have to say goodbye to the shrine that I was building up in my mind just like I had to say goodbye to her.

Ali and I bought our house on the day before our wedding and we thought that having some of our wedding photos taken in the empty house would be an appropriate and memorable way to commemorate such a big step in our lives (see the original wedding day session here).  As wedding days go, it all happened in a blur, but those images represent some of the happiest moments in my life.  It was the beginning of what we planned on being a long and happy life together.  And so, when it came time to pack up the house and schedule the movers, I struggled with the thought of saying goodbye and walking away without something to commemorate such a big step in mine and Olivia’s life.  Having world-class photographers in the family is a nice perk that I try not to abuse, but I managed to sneak into Melanie and Adam’s busy schedule and we set out to once again do a photo session in that empty house.  Only this time I would have a different partner, although one just as beautiful.   It was fun and strange and sad and comforting and just about every other emotion you can think of.  And, it wasn’t until I drove away that the significance of what we had just done hit me like a ton of bricks.   These would be the last memories in that house.

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Side by sides from the original photo session on our wedding day.nunerys023 nunerys022nunerys014
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I did it for me.  I did it for us.  I did it so I would have something to show for the love and beauty that occupied that house for a short time in our lives.  I wanted to be able to show Olivia the place where her mother and I started our lives together and dreamed of raising children.  I thought it would be much harder to say goodbye in this way, but as I sat in the driveway, ready to drive away for the last time, I realized that it’s just a house.  The memories of Ali don’t live in that house.  They live with us, in our hearts.  We take them with us wherever we go and they will live with us in our new house too.  A house is just a house.  Yes, I will miss it but I still have the memories of Ali and I still have Olivia, the most precious evidence of the love Ali and I shared and still share.  Since Melanie posted the photos on her blog, many people have asked me how I felt while doing that photo session.  What I want them to know is that this isn’t a story about grief and loss and hurt.  Yes, I’ve gone through those emotions and still do but that’s not what I want people to see in these photos.  This is a story about love.  The pain is nothing compared to the love that I feel for Ali and Olivia and that’s the story I want these pictures to tell to Olivia in the years to come and anyone else that sees them.  The pain will subside little by little but the love never will, no matter where we live.   Our lives will continue down a curvy and uncertain path but Olivia and I will be able to look at these photos and know that for a short time there was a place where I was the luckiest man in the world, even if just for a little while.

– Ben

See the full photo session here

 

A Year Without You.

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Ali,

God, has it really been a year? I think back over the last 12 months and I can barely remember what Iʼve done. It feels like a blur, like a strange dream that I canʼt wake up from. There was a time when i didnʼt think I could make it to the next day and here we are a year later. And as weʼve been approaching your anniversary, I canʼt help but think about all the details of those final days. Most of it is torture to think about. Making those final decisions about your care and watching you in so much pain and listening to you calling out my name and looking into your eyes and holding you as you left this world. Itʼs too hard to think about and lately I canʼt stop. The one thing I try to focus on is our last night together before you went into the ICU. I was considering going home for the night and letting your mom stay at the hospital, but for some reason I felt like I needed to be there. I didnʼt think much of it, since spending the night in the hospital with you had become the new normal for me. We talked and laughed and laid on your hospital bed together and snuggled. It was our last night on this earth together and I remember how pleasant it was. We had a little movie night in the hospital room and you fell asleep looking very comfortable and pain free, which was a rare treat. We said “I love you” to each other that night before bed and had I known it was for the last time I would have said a lot more, but I take comfort in knowing that you went to sleep that night knowing that I loved you. Itʼs my last good memory of you.

The last time I wrote you a letter it was a few days after you left us and I was preparing a eulogy for your funeral. Then, just like now, I was alone in the dark letting the words pour out, trying not to let the tears get in my keyboard and for some reason, just like then, I felt like writing you a letter was the only way to tell you how I feel. Iʼve mostly kept my feelings and thoughts private throughout the year, but for some reason I feel an urge to post to the blog. Itʼs something I intended to do regularly but for some reason it just never felt right. You used to want me to write you love letters because you loved the way I write and if I had the chance, again, I would write you love letters every day of your life.

In some respects itʼs been a long year of regrets, thinking back on our life together and everything that I should have done. But, mostly Iʼve looked back on our life together and I wouldnʼt change a thing. Even knowing the indescribable pain that I would eventually go through, I wouldnʼt change any of it. I am who I am because of you. You entered my life and changed me forever. You made me a better person, a better man, a better father, a better everything. I spent most of my single years believing that there was a girl out there for me that was meant only for me and I only for her. I knew in my heart that she was out there and that we were meant to be together. And I found her. And she found me. And I believe it stronger now more than ever that I was meant to be with you, if only for a short time. And in that short time you loved me and changed me in profound ways. . .ways that will stay with me for the rest of my life, no matter what lies ahead. And you have given me the most amazing gift that I could have ever received. Olivia is a true gift and there is no doubt in my mind that she saved my life and continues to push me forward in times when I didnʼt feel like I could keep going. She is the driving force in my life and the love I feel for her is matched only by the love I felt and still feel for you. Thank you, Ali. Thank you for giving me that sweet little girl. I know that you are helping me with her every day and I know that you are guiding both of us.

Olivia is getting so big and so smart. You would be so proud of her. And I think you would be proud of me too. Iʼve learned so much over the past year. . .things that I thought I would never know and things I thought I would never have to do. I remember the first time I tried to do some clothes shopping for her and I was so scared and nervous. I had no idea what I was doing and I just knew that you were watching and cringing at the stuff I was picking out. Those first few times were difficult but now Iʼve got the hang of it and I love shopping for her. . . a little too much I think. I especially like the looks that I get from mothers that are surprised to see a 33 year old man putting together cute outfits in the girl toddler section at Target. Iʼm definitely not on your level, yet, but Iʼm getting there. I think Iʼm surprising a lot of people with Oliviaʼs wardrobe. Of course, we still have all the clothes that you were buying online when you were in the hospital. Iʼm so glad you did that. I remember when you were starting to get sicker and sicker and I finally gave in and gave you the go-ahead to buy whatever you wanted and how happy that made you (not that you wanted or needed my permission). If I could do it again, I would have taken out all the credit I could to give you an unlimited shopping spree on zulilly.com. It would have been worth every penny.

She is doing so many new things. I wish the past year wasnʼt such a blur and I could remember everything. Sometimes I think about all the things I would tell you if I was able to see you again or even talk to you on the phone. Every now and then when something funny happens or I need some advice, I pull my phone out and start to call you. Even now, a year later, I still do it. I would tell you so many things. How Olivia loves little baby dolls and how she loves to go shopping. She is so smart and so advanced. Even Dr. W has been shocked at how far ahead she is. She is talking like crazy now and even talks about you a lot. She loves riding in your car because itʼs “Mommyʼs car!”. She points you out in pictures and constantly wants to grab my phone, which she can navigate perfectly, so she can look at pictures of Mommy. I sing “Three Little Birds” to her every night so she will grow up loving Bob Marley just like you. And she knows all the words. Sometimes when I put her in bed I tell her to say hi to Mommy for me in her dreams. I hope you visit her in her dreams and I hope you have fun times together. Everyone is so amazed at how well she sleeps and Iʼm convinced itʼs because you watch over her at night. . . and hopefully to take care of me too and let me get good sleep. We are potty training and sheʼs getting really good. Weʼre not quite there, yet, but sheʼs getting better and better. It makes me sad to think about all the things that you would be teaching her and showing her. You and I felt so strongly about keeping you home to raise our kids and my heart breaks every time I think about what life would be like with you being at home and greeting me every day after work. I can just picture you and Olivia playing dress up and having tea parties and reading all of your favorite childrenʼs books. She still goes to Library every Monday so hopefully she will have the same love for reading as you had. Maybe when she grows up she will even give me a hard time for buying books instead of checking them out just like you did. Weʼve been on several trips this year. I even took her on a plane by myself, which was an adventure to say the least. Planes and airports and connections and checked car seats and rental cars and strollers in the security check points. . . we went through it all. It was tough, but it was worth it. Even then I knew you were taking care of us. It had to be you when I got to the gate for our first flight and I was so scared and then our friend, Becca, appeared out of nowhere and just happened to have a stand by ticket for that flight. And when she made it on the flight, she got sat directly across the aisle from us and the only empty seat on the flight was right in between us. She was so helpful on that flight and I knew it was you helping me out.

There are so many other things. I guess when I think about it, life is going on. Olivia and I are moving forward and beginning to make it through life together on our own. Iʼm trying so hard and Olivia is such a good sport and makes things easier on me when she can and I hope you see all of it and are proud of us. I know there are times when Iʼm doing something that you would do differently, but I hope, for the most part, Iʼm doing a good job raising our daughter. Itʼs the most difficult thing Iʼve ever done and I have the most wonderful support system and I hope that you continue to guide me and teach me how to be a better father. And some day I hope you can give me the words to explain to Olivia how much her mother loved her and how hard you fought in your final months and weeks and days. I am crushed every time I think about her not knowing you as she gets older, but I also know that there are lots of people out there that will never let her grow up without knowing all the little stories about you. Thatʼs the beautiful thing about you, Ali. You had an impact on so many people and changed so many lives. Itʼs incalculable. And Olivia will know that.

Iʼm not sure what lies ahead in the next year or the next 10 years or 20 years, but I know that I miss you like crazy, every second of every day. Itʼs impossible for me to describe how much I miss you. The only comfort I have is that you are watching over us and guiding us just as you did when you were here in the flesh. I love you so much and I always will. Your leaving has left such a massive hole and has crushed the ones that love you in such monumental ways. . . but we are all pulling together and pushing forward. We are surviving and I know you are watching us with a smile on your face and we all know that some day we will see you again. Some day Olivia and I will be able to hug you and kiss you and tell you all about the life weʼve led after you left us. Until then, keep watching and know that I, and all of us, miss you and love you with all our hearts.

XOXO, Ben

**To see the rest of the pics of Olivia and Ben click HERE.