August 23rd, Marty’s dad, Arty, was born in 1925,
I think I have the year correct. August
23rd, Marty’s birthday twin, Ellen Elliot, was born, seven years
ago. August 23rd, 1954, Marty
Jean Watkins came into the world in Clovis, New Mexico.
The world, at least for some of us, was irrevocably changed,
mostly for the better.
It’s been about 13 weeks since Marty left us, I want to say
left me but that’s not even close to accurate, she left a lot of us in May.
I’m not sure what to do with this day, I’m just not. It’s sad, it’s okay, if’s fine 3.0. I’m just not sure how this day is supposed to
work anymore.
When Marty’s dad passed away in 2004 I know Marty dreaded
that first August 23rd when she wouldn’t be able to sing “Happy
Birthday to Us” with her Dad. The first
stroke kept her from having to deal with that day.
I’ve talked to both Erin and Matt today and I think they feel
the same way I do, a bit of confusion on how to do this day. It’s sad, I mean real live sad, but somehow
on Marty’s birthday, on this August 23rd we can’t be washed in simple
grief and sadness.
Somehow I think we, I know Marty would have wanted, must “suck
it up” and remember on this day the Marty that was, the Marty that made us
laugh, that made us cry, that made us think, that made us love, that made us
understand love, that made us have courage.
The Marty that touched my soul.
I think today of all days I want to remember sitting around
the dinner (supper if you’re from the country like me) table talking with the
kids and asking them about their day, asking them who they sat with at lunch,
asking them what they learned.
I want to remember the little sticky note Marty gave me with
an imprint of her lips on them, the sticky note I carried in my billfold for
years to remind me who I was.
I want to remember sitting in a garage of a rental house in
Lubbock Texas watching and smelling the rain as Marty and I fell in love.
I want to remember watching her ski down the slopes at Red
River and Angel Fire. I want to remember
her pulling me out of a snow drift in Breckenridge Colorado.
I want to remember lying in bed with Marty, laughing about something
completely stupid that no one else in the world would have thought that funny.
I want to remember the encouragement, the advice, the ear
she gave me when work seemed
impossible.
I want to remember the way she cradled and loved our children. I want to remember her working on a paper Mache
shark for one of Matt’s projects. I want
to remember her working on a video for a little girl named Erin who was
thinking about being a doctor.
I want to remember how she cried when we dropped off the
kids at college, and how we felt a mutual pride that they were ready and maybe
we helped with that.
I want to remember a woman who was broken by a deadly stroke
who stood on a rehab staircase, raised her hands in celebration and shook her
back side.
I want to remember a woman who held my hand tightly and
looked me dead in the eyes and said I love you too many times to count.
There’s just so much there, so many amazing moments and things
I think about every day when my heart allows my mind to go there. So many years, so many good things, so many
happy moments interspersed with the worst of all times.
On this day, on this day when it feels so sad, when the mind
realizes the magnitude of the loss, I remember her smile and her laugh, both of
which always did and always will fill me with an eternal happiness.
