57. Sweet Tooth

"It's hard - I know it's hard being the one who's gone.  But, man, it isn't easy being the one who's still around."
~Grey's Anatomy (Season 2, Episode 3)

When I first started writing this blog, a buddy of mine (who didn't know me in the "before-Jon" phase of my life but has since become a good friend) said he was glad to see me dealing with all my "Jon issues."  At the same time, however, he feared that talking and thinking about such a traumatic loss on a daily basis might actually make things worse for me.  I dismissed his concerns and insisted I'd be fine.  I told him that writing, in which I've always found comfort, would help me to deal with the things I've avoided facing for several years.  It's not like I don't think about this stuff all the time anyway...I might as well get it out of my head and down on paper where my friends and family can understand how I'm really feeling when I lie and tell them I'm doing "good" or "fine."

After the truly terrible day I had last Tuesday, I started to think he could be right.  For a long and tearful afternoon, I wondered if putting it all out there in an open forum is nothing more than yet another sign of how much I miss my husband, especially during that lonely time at the end of the day when there's no one around to see my tears or witness my anguish.  But then I considered all the people who've supported me in this endeavor and thanked me for expressing what they feel and can't put into words, and I changed my mind again.  Yes, I thought, I'll keep on writing. It's what I do.  It's all I know how to do for now.  And I think - for now - that's okay.  If this is what it takes to convince myself than I'm stronger than I give myself credit for, then this is what takes.  Others tell me all the time that I seem to be doing so well, but when I reach that lonely time at the end of the day, it doesn't matter what they think until I start to believe it too.

I've been told on several occasions that the love Jon and I shared is rare, and that very few people ever love so passionately and unconditionally.  That's exactly the problem.  Why do you think it's so hard to go without it?  I want it back.  I don't mean this to sound glib, but I truly feel sorry for anyone who has never loved another person with that magnitude of feeling.  The depth of emotion you experience when someone else's life means more to you than your own is more beautiful than anything you can see or touch.  During one of many conversations about how unfair life can be, a guy I worked with at Fort Bragg tried to relate to my loss by describing how he felt after being shot several times.  He said that as he lay there on the table in the Emergency Room, wondering if he was going to survive, he wasn't thinking about his wife or even his kids.  He was thinking about the fact that this was his life on the line and he knew he had to fight like hell for it.  His thoughts of the future - and all the things in it that he still wanted to do in it - were what pulled him through the worst of the pain and pushed him to make a full recovery.

As soon as he said that, I tuned him out.  I knew as soon as he said that his life was the one that mattered most that he was selfish and didn't get it.  And that's fine, I understand that many people feel the same way he does.  But that's not how I feel when I think about the love I have for Jon.  I can't describe in words how it feels to have and hold something like that...and then watch it slip through your fingertips, but believe me, I've tried.  The best analogy I can offer is that it's like watching the most heart-stopping, chill-inducing, gorgeous sunset imaginable...and then, in the next instant, losing your sight forever with no hope of recovery.  The image of that last sunset would torture you, both in good ways and in bad, as you tried to find the same kind of fulfillment in other things that don't include the power of sight or natural beauty.  For lack of a better explanation, that's the way I feel when I look back on what I had with Jon.  Seems like I've been navigating the road ahead blind and on empty since I lost it.

Jon and I at Smokey Bones the night before Ranger School graduation
(Fort Benning, GA - April 2004)

As I got my morning fix at my favorite coffee shop last week, I hesitated at the dessert window for a moment.  Did I really need anything from those tantalizing, cream-covered trays?  No, of course not.  But did I want something?  Um, yeah!  Trying to choose between strawberry delight cake and chocolate chip cheesecake was a tough decision, but I finally settled on the strawberry delight because it reminded me of the strawberry shortcake Jon used to make.  He definitely would have drooled over this cake, I thought to myself with a smile.  A sweet tooth was something we had in common.  While suffering through Ranger School, the one thing Jon said he looked forward to the most (besides sleep and freedom) was eating these home-made hot donuts from a restaurant called Smokey Bones.  It's the same restaurant we went to eat at about a year later when he proposed to me on April 30th, 2005.  He told me he'd almost proposed to me right there at the dinner table, but because he wanted the proposal to be more private, he decided to wait.  Instead, when we got home from dinner, he popped the question in his own unique way that, as a history nerd, I could easily relate to - a "what happened this day in history?" kind of thing.  As we went for a walk around our new apartment complex, Jon asked me if I knew the historical significance of April 30th.  I thought for a moment and then said no, that I couldn't think of anything off the top of my head.  He told me that on April 30th, 1975, Saigon had fallen during the Vietnam War...and that this was also the day he would propose and ask me to be his wife.  Then, right outside our front door, he got down on one knee and pulled out a small navy blue box containing a beautiful 1-carat diamond solitaire.  I'm pretty sure he already knew that my answer would be an ecstatic yes.  

My beautiful engagement ring

Once the proposal was official, my father-in-law told me that Jon had known exactly what kind of ring he'd wanted to get me.  He'd looked around almost the entire store before finally pointing to it and telling his dad that that was "the one."  He was so proud of it too - he'd bought a mini magnifying glass so he could show me the quality of the stone and relayed all the details of the diamond's size, cut, and clarity using a little chart that illustrates the break-down of each feature.  When I described the ring to my grandmother, she said she was jealous and that she'd hoped for a ring just like that many years ago when my grandfather proposed to her.  It surprised me to hear her say that since my grandfather proposed to her at the top of the Scot Monument in Edinburgh, Scotland, which is possibly the most beautiful and romantic spot for a proposal if there ever was one.  Also, as I later found out, my mom tried on the engagement ring before I ever did because Jon stopped by my parents' house to ask my dad for my hand in marriage.  Well, maybe "asked" is too strong of a word.  As the story goes, Jon more or less told him matter-of-factly, as was his way, that he planned to marry me.  Old school - I loved it.  When I picked up the phone to tell my parents we'd gotten engaged, my mom was already expecting my call.  She said that keeping it a secret from me over the last couple of weeks had been one of the most difficult things she'd ever had to do.

Eating the delicious wedding cake at our wedding...we always said two of the best things about getting married were the cake tasting and the honeymoon!

In recognition of his sweet tooth, the groom's cake I presented to Jon at our rehearsal dinner was a giant chocolate chip cookie covered in huge globs of butter-cream frosting.  The cake depicted the crossed sabers, which is the branch insignia of the Cavalry.  When Jon deployed to Iraq with the 5-73d Cavalry Squadron several weeks later, I distracted myself by putting together care packages filled with his favorite baked goods.  For Valentine's Day, I sent him a double-layer heart shaped chocolate cake covered with pink frosting that he managed to eat all in one sitting.  When we talked on the phone and I'd ask what he'd been doing, his most exciting news was usually that he'd eaten not one but two desserts at the chow hall for dinner.  And once when we were talking over AOL Instant Messenger (AIM), a college friend told me Jon had just admitted to eating almost a whole box of thin mint Girl Scout cookies.  I confronted my husband via AIM about his sugar intake and joked with mock dismay about how I'd probably have to roll him home to me from Iraq.  When he put on his size 32-inch pants over R&R, he said, "hey honey, you might have to get me a couple of pairs of 34s for when I come home...these are a little tight!"  We never quite got to the point where buying the 34s was necessary because, just a few months after that conversation, Jon was killed in action.  I held onto his beloved 32-inch pants for several years after he died before finally donating them to his brother with the hope that he could put them to good use.  Although it was hard to part with them, I think my husband would have understood; if Jon was ever anything, he was thrifty and did not believe in waste.  As he acknowledged, however, there are some things that are worth investing a little extra money in, like desserts.  One morning when we spoke on the phone after he'd bought a 50-cent donut from a vendor in Korea, he said the lesson he learned from buying a cheap, day-old donut was that it's sometimes worth paying full price for the good stuff.

Mmmm, Volcano Cake - one of the best desserts Jon and I ever shared
together.  I still can't believe we ate the whole thing!

After a long hiatus, it's only been a few months since I finally started eating sweet things again, like ice cream and frosted cookies.  As my husband discovered, it doesn't always work out so well for your waistline...but that's why they make bigger pants.  It makes me smile when I order a dessert and think back on the many serious discussions Jon and I had about which delicious ice-cream-covered treat we could happily share.  Occasionally, we fought over certain items (like desserts that contained peanut butter, which I hate), but we could usually always reach an agreeable compromise and settle on something we'd both enjoy.  It's actually a pretty good metaphor for what made our relationship work so well - we compromised, talked it out, and always made the most out of every situation while focusing on what mattered most.  After all, who really cares about the entree when the sugary goodness of dessert is what counts?  This is one of the many reasons I miss the man with whom I shared a love that is, by all accounts, rare.  Jon was my sweetheart, and together we shared several beautiful years of the sweeter things in life.  I guess I'll just have to keep enjoying these sweet things (minus the peanut butter) until I'm reunited with him in a better place where you don't always have to finish your entree to earn the right to dessert.  Until that day, my sweet prince, I love you always and forever... 

Jon and I just a few feet from where he got down on his knee and asked me to be his wife.
"It's like a dream of never-ending beauty...true love never dies." ~Anonymous