Yesterday started out with making pancakes and Jimmy Dean sausage for breakfast. How could any day started with pancakes and Jimmy Dean sausage not be a good day? Seriously.
The plan for the day was that after supper we would pack up the last few hundred things we had in the bedroom at my mom's house. Then we would head over to the studio to spend our first night there.
The memory forced its way through the minute I opened the suitcase.
This time nine years ago Ronnie and I were planning our wedding. It was set for September 7th, 2002. My mind's eye replays those days as a fairy tale. Not only that, but they also seem to be in HD!
Truly, that time was a fairy tale. All was right in the world. I was a soon to be bride, prepared to become a wife to my longtime love.
We had happily completed all the spiritual preparation with our church.
All the deposits were paid. My dress had been made, the RSVP's had been returned and the two of us were excited about exchanging our vows, before God, with our family and friends present.
Even my husbands parents begging him day after day not to get married could not intrude on this beautiful time.
I could not forsee that one simple phone call would shift this moment in time.
I can still feel the sun's warmth streaming through the white window blinds of the small, modular trailer as I sat at my cherry wood desk, surfing the web, preparing for my wedding much more than doing any actual work.
"This is mom," (as if I didn't know) "I dont want you to worry, but I know you will be angry if we dont tell you. Your brother is in the hospital."
Those words knocked the wind out of me, literally. My chest was being crushed. The tears flowed...slowly...effortlessly...unintentionally.
My heart was aching. It aches now, nine years later.
Wow. Sometimes it doesn't feel like it was nine seconds ago, much less nine years.
My fight or flight mechanism had kicked in. "I'm coming home, Mom!"