A lot of important days have passed.  Aaron's first absent birthday.  People can say all the positive stuff they want to about birthdays in Heaven and better off there and focus on the good times... I get it.  I know it's all true.  You know what? It may be.  If it isn't YOUR loved one we're talking about.  I may have even said that stuff.  I can even acknowledge that those statements might be comforting to some.  I don't find them comforting.  I agree with each of them.  I don't need them rubbed in my face.  I don't need to hear others looking on the bright side.  I don't need to hear encouragement to do it myself.  Honestly, the best comments have been those that validate what I feel.  Just let it exist.  Pull it out in the middle and look at it OR kick it under the rug.  Yeah, maybe I'd rather just ignore it all.  Yes, if we're really going to play honest-time, I'd rather ignore it.  If I ignore it, it might go away and time will pass and then this horrible nightmare that we're calling "reality" might just pass. The birthday was horrible.  Just horrible.  To not buy gifts, no cake, no week of fun... We did go to Red Lobster and the kids got lobster in honor of Aaron, but it was so sad.  He would've dug it.  What really bites is that we probably wouldn't have wanted to spend the money on lobster for kids that couldn't really enjoy it if he'd been here.  Silly, isn't it? 
In Aaron's honor, we also continued the yearly tradition and headed to St. Elmo's in Indy for Devour Downtown.  Great company, lovely room, amazing meal, empty, empty, empty.  I could feel him there, hear him speak, see his smile, touch his hand.  I'm beginning to see how people can go crazy.  It's all so real.  I had my first Aaron dream after that night.  He was mad at me about some plans I've made.  Is it funny that I feel a healthy rebellion in doing things I know he wouldn't be happy about right now?  Not horrible things, just things he wouldn't be really supportive of.  Maybe it's just to feel something.  I don't want to hurt my kids in this process though.  Decisions must be reached and I don't feel entirely competent to make them.  Too much is still up in the air. 
To get back to my point: days.  Don't waste them.  Aaron and I had a LOT of really, really good days.  Even in the midst of it.  Good days.  Happy days.  Full days.  We liked each other.  We let the other BE who God designed us to be.  It wasn't perfect, but it was beautiful.  Don't waste your days.  I recognize that an uneventful day IS a good one.  We didn't have enough.  How did I have 10 years of good and somehow the 3 years of rough ones are the ones that stand out?  Come on, memory.  10 years of good.  10 years of good. 10 years of good...

I had so many tumbles of thought this past weekend.  I got away.  Not the beach vacation I'm needing so badly, but a short business trip with amazing women, a plane ride, money to burn, and no real responsibilities.  With that freedom came a little bit of ouch.  Like realizing this is my first trip husbandless.  Thinking about the word "widow".  How can that possibly be me?  Thinking how Aaron never would have let me go to a strange city by myself... he'd have let me go, but he'd have found a way to go too.  Thinking how much he loved to travel and hold my hand and try new things.  His love of history and food and ... just all of it.  He was so supportive of my business and what I was/am doing.  He'd have been with me, in those meetings, as my true partner. 
I had to kick those tears into the corner so many times and just tell them, "No.  I'm not doing you now."  I just don't want to feel all this.  If I feel it, it's real and I may just crumble.  I've picked myself up from a lot of gross, I'm not completely positive that I can open myself up to the depth of this reality without completely shattering.  I'm like the broken glass that has tape around it.  As long as you leave the tape on, the glass will stand, but if you take the tape off, it's going to be a pile of shards. 
Many of the people that knew me at the conference knew me because of what I've been through.  That's okay with me, but it's hard to acknowledge.  And the few that weren't immediately nice or kind, I wanted to grab by the hair and shake.  The compulsion to yell at people, "Do you know what I've been through?!"  is almost impossible to overcome.  I do it, but the mental Shannon is pretty mad at the real Shannon about it. 
Then moments of ohhhh hit.  Like looking out the plane window and seeing that the moon looks exactly the same distance away from me in the plane as it does from the ground.  Space is just space.  Aaron is here somewhere and the Bible says I get him again.  Why do I feel like every day is a punch card to that?  I want to enjoy life more than that.  I just cry out, "Lord, I want my husband!"  The sad thing was, I was crying that before he was truely gone.  I just want my husband.  I want my baby.  I want my husband.  I want our home.  I want.  I don't know how God can make this right.  I don't know how He can work this for good (Romans 8:28).  And what I really don't get... the thing that keeps me up at night, the thing that trips me and knocks me flat: if God loved Aaron like God loves me and Aaron had to do all that he did and stand like he stood and pray and believe and keep standing and we still ended up here, if that's what God had for Aaron, what am I wanting Hiim to have for me?  I hate that thought.  To my core, I hate it.  But I feel it and I ask it and I wonder.  I trust God for more than that.  He is my Helper.  He is my Defender.  He is my Savior.  But what happened here, Lord?  Help me see so that I can believe.  Help me.  God help me, I trust You.  I do, but I feel stung and broken and lost. 
I feel abandoned.  I can't say my husband died.  I can't say I'm a widow.  I can't say I'm a single mother.  I just can't.  I can say I've been abandoned.  I can say I'm on my own.  I can do all this stuff.  I'm capable and strong.  I'm no sissy.  I remarked to a friend the other day that I was an abandoned woman.  She reminded me that abandoned implies he wanted to go, which is So not the case.  He fought and fought and fought some more.  He did.  I know that.  We decided that I'd just have to say he was stolen so I'm really a victim of theft. 
God, help me.  I hurt.

Inheritance.  It is such a big word.  It can mean so many things.  Obviously,  Mr. Johns was speaking of the inheritance that our Heavenly Father gives to us.   This comes in the form of the family He places us in, the area He places us in,  the people He surrounds us with, etc.  For example, I believe the United States has a rich, Godly inheritance.  Men died for what we have.  Seek it out, while the US invites all religions and peoples, our foundation is on Christ.  We are protected, provided for, rewarded.  But people died for what we enjoy.  They are still defending it.  But, if you believe Bible at all, you know that there's something about the shedding of blood.  And I'm not talking all freaky-deeky about sacrifice.  I'm merely saying that I believe God honors it.  Honor to whom honor. 
I believe there are battles that I have victory over in the Spiritual sense because my ancestors already fought them.  I believe there are battles my children now have victory over because their father remained faithful to the end.  He never stopped trusting and giving to God.  In his final hours, he became an ordained minister.  Talk about writing on the wall.  My father's voice broke as he interruped my uncle to nominate Aaron for that.  As a board member, church elder, and additional father to Aaron, my father was stepping in to have his say in this promotion.  Oh, how I thought things were going to be different and that the tide was going to change.  I straight up told the doctor, "I hear what you're saying and I see what you see, but I will be praying for a Lazarus moment until he's in the ground."  I kinda lied; I'm still praying. 
But, inheritance.  If I could encourage people to learn about anything right now, it would be that.  Generational inheritance.  How what you and I do today impacts our children's tomorrows.  How ground we gain now will carry on for generations.  How plagues we see now are simply the fruit of sin from generations past.  Sometimes I think, "Man, S, you're really out there now," but I can't deny that it resonates with my Spirit.  This type of faith comes completely naturally.  I don't have to think too much about it, it just is.

I've had the same sermons on my iPhone for well over a year.  I put the tracks on shuffle regularly and scan through the songs, but always listen to the teachings.  I always am stunned when God gives me something new that's been in my hands the whole time.  He did that last night.  I've listened to Jeff Johns from White Horse Christian Center (on iTunes) for years.  Love his messages.  I heard one on my iPhone last night that had to be two years old and I'd never heard it before.  The line that spoke to my spirit... "sometimes inheritance will really cost you." 
Stopped me cold. 
We've been praying and claiming and watching for inheritance ever since it was spoken on in the winter of 2011.  How I missed this teaching is beyond me.  The cost.  The cost for inheritance.  What is the cost?  I trust Him, so I'm obviously willing to pay it. 
Combine that with Bill Johnson's teaching, "Every loss is temporary, every victory is eternal."  Our temporary loss will lead to our eternal victory.  I'm not immediately happy, but I do have a moment of peace to celebrate. 

i love you never felt like any blessing.
I wouldn't say that lyric is true, but right now it feels pretty accurate.  This pain and loss is too much.  I wonder what necessitates it, honestly.  Why is this necessary? I sit tonight thinking that, if not for my kids, I could completely close in.  Just stop.  Breathing is a whole lot of work, much less this facade of tasks.  I remind myself that I'm lucky.  That I'm living and I need to truely live.  I'm not interested in losing a year in grief and goo over something I can't change.  I grieve, I mourn, I cry, I question, but I am not interested in becoming lost in the maze of this loss of a soulmate.  My midwife said to me once that I wasn't the average patient.  I assume because I wasn't looking for someone to carry blame for me.  I'm not sure.  I know it had to do with perspective.  I guess I wish at times that I knew what normal would do right now.  I keep circling thoughts. 
Lost.
Aaron and I had a number of very candid moments this year that are frozen in my memory.  One of those was in the hours after we learned of my cousin's tragic death.  Jeremy was only two years older than Aaron and I and he was taken in a motorcycle accident in August.  He left behind his wife, five children, and a legacy of testimony.  Rich, rich testimony.  I could say so much about Jeremy.  How loving and tender-hearted he was.  How he tested limits in his youth.  How he lived through so many things that should have killed him and lived on.  How he turned from a lost boy to a father-figure for so many wandering kids.  How he rebuilt his family out of ruins...  The best.  I'm sure that doesn't even scratch the surface.  His wife, family, and friends have rallied.  They have pressed on.  They have LIVED his testimony and continued on, honoring him in all they say and do.  It is truely beautiful and heart-wrenching to watch.  How much has been gained by this earthly loss?  It can't be counted. 
To return to my point though, Aaron was truely broken by Jeremy's loss.  Obvious reasons exist, but I got a snapshot into Aaron's mind that day as he sat before me broken. 
"I don't want to do that to you."
"What, Aaron?"
"Leave you like that.  I don't want to do that to you."

There it was.  All out.  The doubts, the fears, the stakes.  Many things we didn't allow to fight their way to the surface.  All there at once in all their horror to look in the eye.  As I say, poking the beast.  Grab him by the neck and drag him out.  Let's deal with this. 

"We're not going there, Aaron.  We stand in faith and we're going to keep standing in faith."

This was the first of several conversations looking at mortality.  Well, suck it, death.  I'm not interested in your bull.  In fact, I'm over it.  Tonight is a night of numb.  A night of whatever.  A night of bite me.  It's like I'm laying on the beach at Michigan again, all but passed out from being beaten.  I just don't care.  Do your worst.  I don't know if you could damage me any further at this point.

The absense of thought.  That's what it comes down to for me.  If I can just hold onto enough clarity to keep from thinking, life can go on. I know the facts.  I know what's happened, but I can't think about what it all means or how permanent it is or how it affects me, my kids, the families... I just can't.  It's too big and it's so painful.  What a disgusting truth.  I rest in knowledge that he's fine.  Somewhere.  He's fine.  Heaven-- he's fine.  I'll see him again.  I'll hear his laugh.  I'll get to hug him.  Hugs were stolen from us in March.  Hugs.  :(  There were moments of tenderness, but his nerves were just so raw, touch was painful. I know he tried.  I know it upset him.  Put that on the list of things I can't think about.  I just have to recognize that this absence is temporary. 
I got really upset a couple weeks ago when a discussion was going on about relationships in Heaven and if they'd be the same as they are here.  The answer at the time was "no".  That doesn't sit well with me, but I don't know if I'm right.  I hope I am.  I want my husband back.  He was good.  GOOD.  Good to the core.  He didn't suck like some do.  He was good, giving, kind, funny, generous, let me be me, creative, joyful, a man of God, detemined, goal-oriented.  He was a leader.  He was stepping into all that the Word calls a husband to be.  We were learning together how to have this partnership.  I know we spent the first years of our marriage just living, not purposefully living.  It was after we had Aubrey that we stepped into adulthood a bit more.  With Aidan and Aaron's new job at TR, I think we became real adults.  But that surgery and diagnosis catapulted us into a whole new level of grown-up.  With each week, we stepped into more.  By the end of that first 8 months, we were different people.  We respected each other more.  Bickering was over.  Nit-picking?  What's that?  We had learned a whole new value for the other person.  He can't be gone.  This is temporary. 
I'm just not sure how to deal with this particular phase of life.  Right now, I'm trying out oblivion.  Feels about right.  I don't want to look back on this time and realize that I didn't deal with it, but I think I am--- kinda.  I'm acknowleding the situation.  I'm doing the things that need done.  I'm thinking about the gravity of it all at times (mostly when driving which isn't my best idea, but I don't have that much control and confirms the fear that you need to be worried about who you meet on the road).  I've thought about what this means for me, my kids.  I've asked myself where do I go from here.  I'm attempting to make no rash decisions.  I'm keeping busy.  And, when I can, I'm attempting to not think about the ifs, ands, what ifs, maybes, perhaps... as much as humanly possible.  I'm wrapped up in duct tape and refusing to feel besides those little moment that I'm able to steal away and completely fall apart.  Just shatter.  How could this man be gone?  How can I do this alone(ish)?  Who's going to be my other 1/2 and reign me in?  Who's going to understand me like no one else?  Who do I get to take on trips and share parenting with?  Who's going to spoil me and love it when I spoil him?  All kinds of very important, pressing questions, right?  How do I honor him?  If I can't fix this, what now?  Yes... these are all the things that I don't think about and try to banish to an area of thoughtlessness. 

Thoughts pour over my mind throughout the day.  Some crippling, some factual, some just pure snark.  I don't know if I'm allowed leniency at this time.  Am I just suddenly allowed to dislike people, things, ideas that before I would've needed to tolerate?  Is there a window of time during which I can just be cruel and feel what I want to feel?  Part of me would like to think that there is and the other part wonders if allowing this behavior will eventually put those roots down in my heart, making me a colder, more judgemental person. 
When we lost Caleb, I remember turning to Aaron and telling him, "People lose their marriages over tragedies like this.  I don't want this horrible thing happening to us to change who we are or how we interact with each other." 
I think we did a pretty good job, but, at the end of the day, I see areas of our relationship that were affected.  Directly because of that experience.  Painful places.  Places we can't get back.  It was crippling to continue to experience loss in our relationship when we'd already shouldered so much.  I don't think it hurt our dealings with each other.  I know that I leaned on my husband entirely during that time and he carried me.  He carried me.  I was a zombie.  He was my function.  And I know that, once I got out of my well, I was his.
Now, here I am again.  I've lost something near and dear to me.  I've lost something that is--- was---- me. 
I heard a quote this week in a song that said something like, losing you -- it is as if my ability to breathe has been taken.  I get that.  I can breathe.  But it would be so easy to forget how to right now.  In fact, I can't even put too much thought into breathing because then I remember your last one as if it's happening in front of me all over again and there isn't a damn thing I can do to stop it.