We lost my wife about a month after my daughter’s second birthday and I was so distraught in the early days that I was having panic attacks.  The thought of being a single father was incredibly terrifying, how am I going to raise a little girl on my own?!  Luckily, psychotherapy and a detailed wellness plan have helped me leave those feelings behind.  Each year, my daughter gets a little older, and I am reminded that I do not need to worry about being able to walk the path of a single parent anymore.  Especially, since each added candle to my daughter’s birthday cake means I am not only walking the path of a single parent, I am in fact, making MY OWN path as a single parent.

It has been almost a month since I last posted on here.  Sometimes, life can get in the way of all of our commitments to others.  Between the holidays, the busiest time of year at my work, travel, and budgets, sharing my weekly thoughts and anecdotes about life after becoming widowed took a significant back-burner.

But the primary reason I hadn’t shared is that my mind, in fact, my very being, was consumed by something that I couldn’t write about at the time.

An impending proposal.

It’s been four years.  Four times, the earth has orbited the sun in full since Megan’s death.  That seems like an eternity, and yet at times, it also feels like it was yesterday.  It’s still “fresh”, yet also “routine”.

If I could have foretold the future, four-and-a-half years ago, a few days before she died, it wouldn’t have changed anything, really.  I would just know what to expect. I can reflect on it now, however. I can write to myself, 1,700 days later, telling my past not what I wanted to hear, but what I needed to.

So, here goes.

I do not know how to be a Dad.

I believe that most who know me would refer to me as “capable.”  Since Ben died, I think I have adequately learned how to manage things I have never before needed to know how to do.  I have learned how to bank online, get my vehicle repaired, hang a picture using a level and hammer instead of the heel of my shoe, use a drill, update the computer and now, as of tonight, I know how to re-hook up the Apple TV. 

I did not have to do any of those things in my real life because, after 25 years together, Ben and I had come up with a division of labour that worked for us.  Bills, banking, electronics and cars were Ben’s job.  Appointments, sports scheduling, registrations, keeping an eye on the kids' social media, yard work … those were my jobs.  We were good at our jobs, and that division of labour made us both happy.  (Plus, I never had to worry about paying the bills after I spent the money.)

Since Ben died, I feel as though I slid as seamlessly as could reasonably be expected into those foreign roles that I never wanted, and I think I have done a fairly decent job for the most part.  I haven’t yet lost all our money, I’ve managed to pay the bills on time, and currently everything in the house is in decent working condition, including this computer.  I think Ben would be proud of me. 

But here’s the thing …. 

As Michele posted last fortnight for me, baby Patrick decided to make a rapid and slightly early appearance!  Thanks for the comments – I was stuck in hospital without net access to respond!

Two Monday’s ago I was getting ready to do my post for last fortnight when things suddenly felt different, so I opted to head to the hospital for monitoring instead.

Four hours later I was in an operating theatre having a caesarean as this baby was coming now.

I'm into year four...Sunday marked the third anniversary of Ian's passing. 

And like all other anniversaries so far this year, it wasn’t too bad.  There was some sadness which I didn't have with the other significant dates, but it wasn’t overwhelming, and was shared with friends of ours from church.   I had no anxiety which I’ve had with this and other anniversaries in past years, such as surgery, illness hitting, wedding and so forth.

John and I kept to our usual Sunday routine of a slower morning, I try and run a load of laundry, we head to church, and then laze around on Sunday afternoon reading, watching movies or playing video games together.

At church, the general discussion on the anniversary revolved around that strange thing that happens with time.  Three years – feels so long ago, but also like only yesterday.

That means my anniversary run…

The 4^th marks 4 years since our wedding day.

The 11^th marks 6 years since we met

The 14^th marks 3 years since Ian died.

Come the 18^th, he’ll have been gone loner than I knew him.

Two days ago, I experienced my first Mother's Day without Megan.  Had you asked me back in January how I would have handled it, I would have expressed sheer terror at the prospect.  At that time, just two months since losing her, all I could imagine was that I would be an emotional train wreck, and would probably have just called my mother and mother-in-law to wish them a happy day, and stayed holed up in my house.

That isn't what occurred, however.  Yesterday was "OK", for lack of a better term.

Our tradition for the past few years had been for Shelby and I to wake up early, go downstairs, make a mess of the kitchen preparing bacon, eggs, pancakes, and coffee, and bring it to Megan in bed, along with a card and a small gift.  Shelby would turn some cartoons on and we'd sit and talk, all three of us, until Megan was ready to get out of bed.  It was a simple acknowledgment of how special she was, and that we would do anything for her.  We would clean up the kitchen and get our day started, where we would be visiting our parents and probably going out to dinner in the evening.

I woke up Sunday at that same early time that I always do, fully aware that it was Mother's Day, and painfully acknowledging the fact that for the first time in eight years, Megan wasn't there to cook breakfast for.  The dogs, having woke me up, were fed and let outside, and I went back to bed.  The bacon stayed in the freezer, and the coffee pot sat there cold. 

Shelby needs to have an example of what a caring, devoted man, father, and husband should be.  She is a mere 8 years old, but I believe most readers here will understand when I state that, well, I might not be here by the time she's 18.  It's a cold, hard truth that should never be swept under the rug or glossed over, and I can unfortunately speak from experience.

Another number away from the "2012" in which Ian died.

One thing I read late last year was people doing a 'word' for the year, not New Years Resolutions, which seemed a far more sensible way to go than dragging out the perennial resolution that never gets stuck to.

The word that stuck out to me at the beginning of the year was Faith.

Not religious faith, but ...