Tell it to My Heart

Most days, I push it away okay.

Most days, I shake my head back and forth when I think of her, in an attempt to rattle the thoughts from my head.

Most days, I’ve accepted that I’ve lost her. Maybe not the physical her, but the real her.

All I’m left with is a shell.

All I’m left with is someone I’ve known for 35 years, but have never met before.

Just when I’ve had a week or so of most days, a feeling of panic washes over me at the most random of times. It knocks me down. It lays me out.

When the panic hits, it manifests itself in one of two ways: anger or sadness.

Mostly, I prefer the former, because it’s easier to feel the anger than the sadness. (Although, my blood pressure and twitter stream would likely disagree.)

This family of ours has dealt with too much pain and death, and mostly all at once, these past five years.

And, here we go again, into something that feels exactly the same and completely different.

The same emotions felt in a completely foreign way.

When we lost them in the plane crash, I felt a sadness that I’ll never be capable of describing with words. To this day, the mere thought of them makes me psychically ache.

With this, the sadness is equally inexplicable and painful, but it’s coupled with such intense anger at the very person I’m missing and mourning.

Sure, I was angry at the universe when we lost our Jacominis, but I was certainly never mad at them.

I am mad at her.

Mad that she’s choosing this fate. Mad that she’s shrunk my family of three down to a family of two. I’m so mad at how many people are feeling this loss and that we’re all locked in this prison with her, and I’m fucking furious that she doesn’t give a shit. I’m angry that, despite my best efforts and my fake facade, this is affecting the most important relationships in my life. And, I’m mad and disappointed at myself for being weak enough to let it.

Feeling so much anger will eat at your soul and slowly chip away at your spirit. Even so, it’s better than the sadness that lies below it.

To have someone you love so deeply be on this earth physically, yet not emotionally or mentally, is gut-wrenching. To slowly watch someone disappear, piece by painful piece, is heart-breaking. And, to have zero control over any of it? Helpless.

I’ve given love to her and I’ve given hate. I’ve been patient and I’ve lost my shit completely. I’ve opened my heart completely and handed it to her, only to have it spit at, stomped on, and thrown back at me. I’ve told her I miss her and I’ve told her to go fuck herself.  Despite it all, she keeps moving farther and farther away. She’s getting smaller by the day and I can barely see her anymore.

People, with only the best of intentions, say over and over again that tough love is what it takes. They tell me to move on and not let her dictate my emotions any longer.

And, I get all that. I really get it.

At least my brain does, anyway.

But, the thing is, no one’s ever been able to tell me how the hell I’m supposed to convince my heart of all this.

It simply will not listen.

And, my greatest fear is that, much like her, it never will.


Last night I thought to myself…

Tomorrow will be easier than years past. After all, it’s just a date. They were gone yesterday and they’ll still be gone tomorrow.

I woke up to leaky diapers and demands for a Nuttela sandwich. It wasn’t until things had calmed that it hit me.

Four years today.

As much as I want to pretend it’s just another day in this whole nightmare, my heart is aching immensely and I feel like I have an elephant crushing my chest.

Grief is a sneaky beast. It waxes and wanes. Some days the load feels lighter and you think to yourself, “I’ve got this.” Then, the very next day the initial shock and despair and panic come rushing back, like not a day has passed.

Susie, Tommy, Thomas, and sweet Vivi, there will never be words to explain how much you are missed. Nothing will ever fill the gaping hole you left behind in our lives and in our hearts.

We hold tight to your memories, and we carry you with us everywhere we go.

Every second, of every day…for eternity.

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Almost full circle.

We spent last weekend at my aunt and uncle’s farm.  They recently bought some land and built their dream home.


It sure as shit ain’t Old McDonald’s Farm.

As you approach the house, you pass the final resting place of the Jacomini’s.

A chapel, with four trees around it. A tree for each of them. Biggest is Tommy’s tree. Smallest, Vivi’s. Growing each day, more and more, from their ashes buried beneath.

Inside the chapel are four headstones.  If you are sitting in front of Vivi’s stone, you can look out and see her tree. And so on…

The ceiling was made out of stained glass by my uncle, Susie’s father.

It’s a wonderful, peaceful place. Somewhere we can go to be close to them. To talk to them. It’s strangely calming.

The weekend was great!!

So relaxing to be out there, in the middle of nowhere.

Lots of swimming.

And of course, the kids dropped trou.

My aunt and uncle have owned a player piano since before I was born. You know the kind? The piano that tickles it’s own keys. My sister, my cousins, and I spent so much time on that thing throughout our childhood.

And now?

Our kids are doing the same.

So bizarre.

My eyes filled with tears as I was taking this shot with my iPhone.

We have come full circle.

Except our circle will never be complete.

There will always be four people missing.

*Apologies for the bad iPhone pictures 🙂

Four years and counting…

My husband and I have been together for seven years now.

We have been married four years today!

We had many fun adventures together before we were married (mawwied? yes, mawwied!). Hopping on planes,  traveling across the country for nights of great music and camping.

Vacations were easy then. Carefree. We didn’t have to worry about babysitters or, “OMG what if something happens and we don’t make it back home.”  This meant I could devote all my time waiting for my husband to fall asleep so I could take funny pictures of me harassing him.

Finally, after living in sin together in our cute little rental, the question was popped.

Spoiler alert.

I said yes!

I made him pose for cheesy couple pictures with me, which is so not his thing!!

I  tried to put into words just how much he means to me.  It was not easy.

On March 11th, of 2006, the big day arrived. Both of us taking on our usual roles. Him, the strong, silent and loving one. Me, the loud, loud and loud one (and very happy!).

We didn’t want a traditional wedding. We didn’t plan on a first dance.  Thankfully, our band surprised us with one. They played “What a Wonderful World”, and we danced. And I bawled. And it was so perfect. My world was wonderful because he was mine. And legally so, sucka!

We should have been off to Hawaii for our honeymoon the day after our wedding.  We missed our flight and had to stay an extra night in Houston. We refused to go back home, opting to check into a hotel and fly out the next day. We laughed it off and made the best of it. We were together.

We finally made it to Hawaii the next day. Precisely one day before I cracked my kneecap in half walking to the pool climbing a mountain.

He spent a week pushing me around the resort in a wheelchair, which I kind of liked because I am one lazy bitch.  I still wore my sexy honeymoon lingerie.  And though my strut was more of a hobble and, well, there were the crutches, it was perfect. We were together.

Oh, and I got us a shit ton of Vicodin for our vacation. Score!

Married life before we had our precious baby boy was so simple. We were still able to jet away to Mexico or Vegas to party with our friends. And laugh at them when they passed out from having too much to drink.

We decided to have a baby.  I got pregnant right away. I was thrilled and terrified.  I miscarried a month later.  My husband was amazing.  He was everything I needed.

Except for a baby.

We got pregnant again the very next month! I was thrilled and terrified. And, apparently, I blamed everything on George W. Bush.

I began having contractions at 27 weeks. I was in the hospital for 3 days and at home under house arrest for 10 weeks.  I had a subcutaneous IV in my thigh, which delivered medicine to slow my contractions. I pretty much would have gone insane without my husband there. I thought this was the worst thing in the world. Did I really want to be a mom? I was not sure why I was even doing it.  Until I met him….

Then I realized I would have walked through hell and back to get to that moment.

I will never forget my husband’s face the first time he met our son.  He said to him, “Hey buddy!!!” with so much joy in his voice and such a smile on his face, I thought his head would explode. It takes my breath away and makes me cry to this day when I hear that “Hey buddy” in my head. My son is so lucky to have him as a daddy.

Ten days after that perfect day, the worst thing in the world happened. I lost four of the most important people in my life.

I have no idea how I would have made it through this without my husband. Amazing husband + Zoloft = you will survive, yo. He just has a way of calming me down. His presence alone does it. No words are really needed.

Putting up with me is not always easy. I am dramatic. I am stubborn. I can be really defensive. I talk way too much. I leave cabinet doors  and drawers open all over the house. I am crazy disorganized and a total scatterbrain. I have panic attacks on airplanes. Then I drink too much on said airplane.  I am pretty much like having a second child sometimes.

But, hey, when I fuck up,  I bake things like this.

Sometimes I embarrass him. I am loud. I say inappropriate things. It’s sometimes hard for me to be serious. I will also cop a feel any chance I get.

We sure have made ourselves a beautiful little family. I love us so much. I can’t believe this is my life.

Eventually, I do want to add to it. But, not quite yet. I want to enjoy this. The right now. It will never be the three of us again.

I love my husband way more than I think he knows. I hope I tell him enough. I mean, I tell him I love him all the time, but do I show it like I did in the beginning?  The sweet things I used to do for him daily seem to get put on the back-burner way too often.  And it’s not because I don’t want to do them, but because I am still figuring out this crazy mom/wife/me juggling act. Cliché, much?

When I first met my husband, an overwhelming feeling of peace came over me. It was hard to explain.

Our dog, Greta, used to do this thing.  At the end of the day she would jump on the bed, curl up in a little bawl and let out a deep sigh of contentment, as if she was thinking, “Thank God I made it here.”

This is how I was finally able to explain how my husband made me feel.  I told him once that he made me do the “Greta sigh”.

We had our wedding bands engraved when we got married. Mine says, “Even breathing felt…”, and his says, “Like something new.”


Thank God I made it here.