With tears in my eyes

I cooked dinner tonight. Not because there were too many onions being chopped.
But because my baby Dayton was playing.
Me crying because my baby was laughing? Doesn't make much sense does it?

We had guests over this afternoon, The Buckners, an older couple with grandchildren in the states.
The husband was playing with Dayton while the wife was reading to Keegan and Braden while I finished dinner in the kitchen.

Dayton was laughing and playing while I could tell the man was thinking of his own grandchildren and I could see the love in his eyes, for my own child and the family he has in a land far away.
Then suddenly, like a boulder landing on my chest. I realized Dayton will never really know that love. He will never know the love of a Grandfather. He was born into this world with no Grandpa. That's not fair, and that makes me so very sad.

There are suppose to be these five stages of grief. I don't recall what they are, but the experts say you go through them all, one at a time, no skipping around, yada yada. I feel like I keep regressing through sometimes.

I will go a whole months without feeling sad about it all, and feel ok with what has happened. But then, in the period of couple weeks all these things remind me of him, and I think I go back to the denial stage. I had a dream the other night that I passed a hospital and saw him there. That everyone had lied to me for a year and a half, and he was still alive somewhere. The dream was real enough I had to wake up and talk myself back to reality.

A few weeks ago I was talking with Aviva about a movie she had watched that had something to do with the Shah of Iran. Well, that was my last little history lesson I received from my Daddy. He was in the hospital (Dec 06) and all the talk on the news was about Irans nuclear wannabe crap. So the lecture began. He told me all about how the Shah ran away to Egypt, then came to the US for cancer treatment, and thats why Iran is where it is today. There were some other facts to that story...but I don't recall them. After quoting me the story I was directed to go to his house, and get such and such world book, turn to page number xx and read all about it. He wasn't a google man, but he could quote Britannica.

There are other things too, like seeing the unique architecture of some buildings here. He would be so interested in seeing them. He built some of the most beautiful houses in my hometown, and was well known for his work. He was always so proud of the staircases and mantles he would craft.

He was suppose to build my home one day.

How I wish he could have seen the Ocean here. He loved the water, and was always up for an adventure. I can imagine he would have talked me into diving so we could explore underwater together.

I need him here. As much as I know my family loves me, I need his love. It was different. I need him here so that I can take care of him, and he can take care of me. We were so co-dependent it's a little embarrassing, but I think we needed each other just as much we needed the other to need us.

He hated the thought of us moving over here, although he never voiced it. I could tell. I sometimes wonder if his sadness over that affected him getting sick? Is that possible?

It all happened too fast. I didn't get the chance to tell him how much I needed him and how much I loved him. I wouldn't hear it when he wanted to talk about those things. I was in denial then, as I am now.

Denial is easier.

p.s. You might as well get used to these long winded posts. As long as the Air Force needs my husband to work nights you are the only person I have to talk to when the kids go to bed.