Saturdays were always busy in the Randle house. Brooke with dance rehearsals and Blake with the sport of the season. Today was opening day for basketball and, with Brenn as assistant coach, both boys were up and out for a morning practice followed by a game later in the day.
From the moment I woke up, I wondered how we would make it through something so normal when it most certainly was not. Our lives have literally been cut in “half” now that we are without Brooke. But rationally, the remaining half needs every bit of us – maybe even more – so I made a big breakfast for my boys and sent them off to practice. Cleaning and laundry were supposed to happen, but I took some coveted time alone to reach out to friends. There are so many phone calls to return and I remain compelled to tell the story again and again. Somehow it helps me process things and make sense out of something so senseless.
All the while, I kept my eye on the clock recalling what was happening four weeks ago:
8:45 a.m- that was the time we placed the 911 call
9:30 a.m.- numerous frantic calls and texts as we tried to find childcare for Blake and tell family members to get to the hospital.
Saturdays – mornings in particular – will never be the same, yet we have to go on. Brenn is so much better at it than I – at least he pretends to be. But somehow, we made it through.
The basketball game was a nail biter and we won in the final seconds. It provided a great distraction for others so the hugs and “I’m so sorrys” were minimal. Blake had a play date after the game and Brenn and I made a trip to Costco. We made a lovely dinner and played a few games of cards with my brother who is still with us and providing much support.
Just a regular Saturday. Until it’s time for bed. And just like every night, the wave hits hard. It crashes down and it screams, “Nothing is regular and it never will be again. Your daughter is gone forever.”
I walk Dudley up and down the street crying softly, looking up at the stars and saying her name over and over again because I love the sound of her name and I miss saying it. “Brooke, Brooke, Brooke.” Dudley’s ears pick up each time. He’s looking for her, too.
My boys are already snuggled in our big bed and I kiss them and hold on tight to them both. Sleep comes so easily to them and that is a true relief. I doze for a bit and return the sofa… to read, to write, to ramble.
Four weeks. Seems like yesterday and seems like forever. Sweet Angel Brooke, I miss you more each and every minute.