It's funny how different people cope with grief.
Not like, funny haha. But funny interesting.
By the time July rolled around, Eric was living here with his folks and we all spent a lot of time together as a family. Even though the kids and I weren't technically family yet.
That could be tricky sometimes. I felt Greg's folks start to pull the kids and I back in some, but I still really struggled with my role in the family. Especially because with Eric in town, emotions were high for all of us, all of the time.
I remember one evening we were all over at Pat and Carol's for dinner. It was a little chaotic as we each had different jobs prepping for dinner, and little almost-5-year-old Teiley asked Eric something. Instinctively, he responded to her with a, "Go ask your Aunt Kristie," and suddenly, time stopped.
I hadn't even noticed, really, over all the commotion. But one second everyone was fine and the next Eric was sobbing in the laundry room, realizing he'd replied to Teiley as if she were Madigan, and then we were all in tears.
Once we recovered, we sat down and prayed together - always emotional - and ate dinner. I remember feeling so very aware suddenly of my kids' behavior. Little things - kids being kids - that I would've let slide in the past were now causing me a lot of anxiety. I could feel my blood pressure rise with every complaint that came out of Tei's mouth, every burp Jasper let fly. I knew what I was feeling was completely inappropriate for the actual situation, but I started to get physically agitated from the stress.
A sneaky little voice in my head whispered, "Look at those kids. They are awful! No manners! You're a terrible mother! And everyone here wishes they were dead instead of Liam and Madigan."
*gasp*
Thoughts like this plagued me during these months. Maybe it was a bizarre version of survivor's guilt...I don't know. But I know who was responsible, and it makes me furious.
But at some point, it all got to be too much. So to add to my stress-eating, I decided to get a tattoo. I already had some, but this was a big one, for me. I think I needed to channel my pain into something beautiful. And I think I needed to show the family I was all in, I was committed.
A friend of mine was training to be a tattoo artist, and around this time she was also trying to raise money for her upcoming missions trip. So one afternoon in early July 2011, I sat in her chair for 5 straight hours. Well, I say "straight" hours, but I had to stop her a couple times so I didn't pass out. I knew I had to finish the piece that same day or I'd never come back. This wasn't my first tattoo, but it was my first with color and shading, and by far the most painful. And with it on my back, I wasn't able to watch it like I had the ones before it, which somehow made the pain even more intense for me. After 5 torturous hours, it was done.
I chose wings for two reasons: Eric often referred to his kids as his angels, and as you've seen, large angel wings surround their graves. But I wanted these to be more bird-like, to represent how we were all going to be able to move above and past this tragedy.
I was nervous to show everyone. Only Greg knew I was getting it. Again, those voices told me I had no right to insert myself into their pain like this. But I did it anyway.
I showed back up at the house and revealed the new ink. There were a lot of tears all around. Not sure that Pat and Carol approved, exactly, haha, but they were touched. Eric hugged me.
That night I carefully tried to sleep with plastic wrap stuck to my back. It shifted in the night and the next morning, my shirt was stuck to one of the wings. Getting my shirt wet didn't even occur to me, so I just carefully peeled my shirt off...and a lot of skin came with it.
To this day, the left wing is scarred along the top. And I actually think it's perfect that way. Fitting. These wings can fly but they'll never be the same again.
Some people eat. Some people get tattoos. Eric is covered in them now. And some people shop.
That July, Jasper and Teiley were spoiled rotten by the Murphy's for their birthdays. Christmas was more of the same for all of us. A blessing and a curse, I think. Because being spoiled like that is fun, but when you know pain is attached to it, it makes it sad.
That season was hard on my relationship with Greg.
Shortly after the kids were killed, he quit his job to go on a road trip with his brother and sister, as Eric moved from Colorado to Washington. They took their time and bonded and had a good trip together.
When he came back, he didn't feel like he could just go back to work in the shop where we'd met. He needed something different, so he called up an old boss he used to wire for, and got some travel gigs.
Greg would be gone in California and Connecticut for 3, 4, 6 weeks at a time. I hated him being gone and we'd often end up fighting on the phone when we could connect.
When he was in town, little 5-year-old-pitbull Teiley had turned super protective of me and while she liked Greg, she didn't want him anywhere near me. If he so much as looked at me too long or sat next to me on the couch, she would force herself between us and start throwing a huge fit. There were definitely a few months towards the end of 2011 when Greg and I didn't think we'd make it as a couple because of Teiley's interference.
I found out later that didn't stop Greg from calling my mom from Connecticut one night to ask her if he could marry me. Apparently, her "She's a very special girl," reply was in the tone of, "Are you sure you wanna marry her? She's...different." Haha!
Thanks, Mom.
Greg decided he'd take his chances.
But there was still the matter of Teiley.
At the time, we all attended an evening service on Sundays. Greg had been at our house for the day, and as we all started getting in our prospective cars to head to church (because Greg would head straight home after that), Teiley declared, "I'm going to church with Greggy Pants!"
Greg and I looked at each other, eyes wide. This had never happened before. Teiley had never wanted to go with Greg like that. He grinned and put her car seat in his car and we all met at church.
Turned out, that's the breakthrough he'd been waiting for.
Not too long after that, on my birthday, Greg showed up at my work one day during his lunch break. I was on the phone when he came in so gave him a distracted wave and barely noticed the balloon and flowers with him. When I hung up and turned around, he was behind me, on one knee, holding out a ring.
I totally did the girly thing and gasped in surprise, hands clapped to my mouth.
I don't remember what he said, other than Jasper had picked out the ring. An amethyst, my birth stone...
We'd been talking about getting married for months and months, and we more or less had our wedding planned by this point, so of course I said yes! But I couldn't get Greg to commit to a date just yet...
You already know I like dates. I get attached to them. So I really wanted to get married on our one year anniversary, which was rapidly approaching. Do you wanna know how I finally talked Greg into it?
I'd been hounding him via text all day. He was back working at the shop temporarily and I was in the office, going into crazy-girl mode. We were texting back and forth about a date and he kept pushing back my March 24th idea.
"What are you scared of?" I asked him, super compassionately, lovingly.
No reply.
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease?" came my text again.
*pause*
*pause*
*pause*
"Fine."
Yes! He committed!
But I had to make for sure for sure.
"So, can I like, Facebook it? Cuz once I do that there's no turning back."
*pause*
*pause*
"Ok. Yes."
He's so lucky to have me.
Turns out the long pauses were (mostly) because he was elbow deep in grease under a hood and had to take his gloves off every time his phone buzzed.
He's since thanked me for pushing him into marrying me. (Hey. My Mom tried to warn him!)
Xoxo.
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