I want to feel normal again...

Dearest Nathan.

I thought today could be considered a good day.  I approved your headstone without shedding a tear.  I almost cried, but I didn't.  I talked to a new widow and shared our story with her in hopes of making her feel less alone, I almost broke down, but I held it together.  I went to our small group Christmas party, I shared memories of you, looked at some of Jenn's photographs, I asked some questions I wasn't sure I wanted the answers to, fortunately the answers weren't as devastating as I thought they might be, and shared our baby and I did it without having a meltdown.   I was proud of myself, I had accomplished a first, a day with no tears.  I spoke too soon though because now I am home.  I am home and I am still without you.  I am home and there is still an empty space on the couch where you should be sitting beside me and there is still an empty space in my queen size bed where you used to lay.  I reach out into the emptiness and am met with instant heartache and with that heartache comes tears.  So much for a tear free day.  It's quiet.  Too quiet.  So quiet that I think I may be swallowed up by it.  I long to hear your voice tell me that it'll be okay.  There are so many things I long for.    Death, no matter the circumstances, is no friend of mine.

The first week after your death, the only question that I had, that I constantly asked myself, was why.  Why couldn't I save you?   Why wasn't the love we shared enough?  Why weren't our kids enough?  It's an awful question and it takes a toll on the asker.  I have, realized, that it wasn't that I didn't love you enough or that what we had wasn't enough, it was simply that you didn't love yourself.  I know it had nothing to do with our babies, in fact, I truly believe that you were in pain, that you may have been suffering from un-diagnosed illness and that in a moment you were consumed and couldn't see a way out.  I truly believe that if you had taken a minute to think it over, you'd still be here with us.  That you loved us so much that if you had considered what you were doing you would have stayed with us.   I know all of this in the deepest part of my heart and soul and I know that I will never fully understand either.  From there I spent several more weeks wrestling with the question WHAT IF.  If I am honest, I still sometimes wrestle with this, but I also know that the guilt I have must be separated from responsibility.  I feel guilty for what I did and didn't do and what I said and did not say, but ultimately I have come to the realization that this was your choice.  No one is responsible for this, but you.   It's been rough coming to grips with the answers to both of these questions and I still have moments where I slip back into trying to figure it all out and when I replay everything over and over again in my mind, but for the most part my question has changed.    Now I ask two questions:  What would you want for the kids and I?  and What do I want?

That's a big question with an even bigger answer.  I want many things.  I want you back.  That's not going to happen.  I want to feel normal again.   I don't remember what that feels like and thus probably won't happen either.  I want to do all the things we planned, but I want to do them with you.   I don't want to miss you anymore.  That's laughable, I will miss you until the day I die.   So many things that I want that I won't ever get and besides that, I guess what I ultimately want is an escape.    An escape from grief, from pain, from my life in general.  An escape, that offers me a chance to breath and rest.  A reprieve if you will.  I want off this merry go round of crazy and of grief. Just for a minute.  I promise I'll get back on as soon as I recoup some energy.

I wish I could clear my head.  I wish I could steady my heart.  I wish I could take a succession of deep breaths.  I wish I could close my eyes and be without responsibility for just a moment.  I wish I could connect my spiritual self with my mental self, with my emotional self, with my physical self.  I wish I could just connect and not feel so fragmented.  I wish I could get used to my new life.  I am beginning to think I will never accept or be used to any of this.

God this hurts.  It hurts even when I think I'm numb and I think when I am numb that just means I am ignoring the pain better than I usually do.


On another note, I made window decals in your memory (I put a picture below).  Originally, I just offered them to certain friends and our families, but now I am considering selling them and using the money to start a scholarship in your memory.  I think you'd like that.  I haven't decided whether I want to give this scholarship to kids whom have lost a parent or to kids that have a passion for music.  I suppose I have time to figure it out.  Lots of details to iron out.  I think this is a good way to honor you.

I love you.  I miss you.  Forever.

Always,
Jess