Everything Reminds Me of You
On the Saturday morning after you died, I came downstairs to get Eden’s bottle ready, as always, and thought, like on most Saturdays, I have to go over and tell Jen what a crazy day I had yesterday. Then I remembered that I had had a crazy day because you had been murdered, right in front of me, just a day and night before.
I used to love Saturdays because you had Saturdays off, and you would show up and walk in (you were the only one that knew you could walk in without knocking first) and we would plan our day together. Or you would tell me a funny story about what had happened at Market Basket, if we hadn’t barbecued together the night before.
And every day at 4 p.m. I look at the clock and half expect you to come waltzing in as you used to do, stopping by when you got home from work just to say hi, with that huge smile and warmth that used to make everything feel better. But you can’t stop by and give Eden a cuddle anymore, and each day feels a little emptier without you.
Everywhere I go, I am reminded of you. And the memories come flooding in, like waves crashing against breakwaters, and I do my best to hide the tears that inevitably come after. I went to the liquor store the other day to pick up bottle stoppers for your “message in a bottle” and I was immediately reminded of our Costco trip a few weeks back. I laughed to myself as I remembered taking Arianna around to all the different samples, and the squabble we had over that bottle of wine you wouldn’t buy yourself because it was too expensive. I told you to put it in the cart and I would pay for it, because you so deserved it, but you wouldn’t. I finally snuck it in behind your back and paid for it. When we got home I found the money you had hidden in my wallet for it, because you wouldn’t let me get away with buying it for you. That’s how you always were, independent and honest, every day of your life.
When I walk past my closet I think back to the day I made you try on my wedding dress, and how I awkwardly teared up when it was all zipped up and you turned around. I remember that little pang of jealousy I felt, knowing secretly, that you looked ten times more beautiful in it than me. You were stunning. It was like you sensed what I was feeling, because you immediately assured me that it was the perfect dress for me, and you had never seen someone look more perfect in a wedding dress. You always had an uncanny sense about people and how they were feeling. A special way of making people feel safe, secure, and at ease.
On the Monday before you passed, I came over to ask you if you could watch Eden while I unloaded the car. I opened the slider and realized, too late, that you were napping on the couch, and I accidentally woke you up. I quickly apologized and started leaving. You rubbed your sleepy eyes and got up and followed me. I kept apologizing, but even though I had just woken you up out of what looked like avery nice nap, you instead looked at me, smiled, and said, “I needed to get up anyways.” You always made me feel better about everything.
You made my life fun, fulfilled, and exciting. Whether it was talking about “Batman,” giggling over Grey’s Anatomy and Pretty Little Liars, helping the kids do a lemonade stand, baking, our countless bbqs and dinners, hiking, going to the pool, or just hanging out at home, you filled my life with kindness,compassion, and enthusiasm.
One piece of the countless advice you gave me sticks in my head. I posted on Facebook the first day back to the gym after having Eden:
“Note to self: Just because you are fat does not mean you can wear shorts that are too big for you. You will spend your first time working out in10 months trying to pull them so you don't show your granny panties to the whole gym.”
And you commented saying: “ Wear something that fits good, so you are comfortable and ready to sweat. Also,you’re not fat, you just gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. It takes over a year for your body to get back to normal. Plus motherhood takes atoll on your body, mind, emotions, and life in general… so don’t be hard on yourself. Your baby is healthy and happy, and that’s what really matters.”
You always knew what to say. You never said a bad word about anyone, even when prompted by the lesser of us.
Last week we said goodbye to you. They put your poor battered body in the ground after we all said our goodbyes, among light blue flowers, your favorite color. But I don’t want to say goodbye. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. There are so many things I didn’t tell you,so many things I didn’t get to do with you, so much advice I hadn’t received yet from you. And you were stolen from me, so cruelly, so unfairly. So I am not saying goodbye.
I hope you continue to remind me of you the rest of my life, in the simple things like a lemonade stand, a piece of fried dough, a pail of snowballs, a store bought cake, a Hello Kitty balloon, an impromptu dance party, a blue dress.
I am so sorry that I couldn’t save you. Every day I wish it had been different, that I had done something differently, and you were here today, making me smile and laugh. My only hope is that in your last minutes you saw how hard Ben and I fought for you, for your life, for everything you stood for, for everything you were.
And I promise to be a better person because of you. I promise to be more selfless, more appreciative, more compassionate and forgiving. I promise to never forget the importance of self-improvement, and to never act like I know everything. To be humble, kind, and open hearted. To live as you did, every day of your life. And I promise to make sure that no one forgets you, the woman who gave me more than I could ever give back, that loved more than anyone could ever love, an amazing mother not just to her beautiful daughter, but to the rest of us as well.
You will always be my best friend, my shining star. I love you Jennifer Martel. Everything reminds me of you.
