Today I did something I had been dreading. I filled out DES paperwork. I clicked the box to remove you from our file. It asked if we had divorced or if you had died, I checked the appropriate box and clicked NEXT. On the following page it asked how I planned to file my tax return. I unchecked married-jointly and instead clicked qualifying widow and felt nauseous at my reality. Later I went to the house. I didn't cry. I watched Aaron and Anthony put everything belonging to your Supra into the car as we made casual conversation and I didn't cry. I didn't even almost cry. I think I am becoming numb. I think I'm ready to be done with this house, ready to be away from the haunting memory of that night and everything I wish I could change but can't. I have to go back on Sunday. I think I may cry then. We are taking all of our things to storage until I find a home. People will move our furniture and all of our packed up memories and they will go into a 10x20x10 box until I decide what to do with them. There is a part of me that breaks when I think about this. When I think about the fact that I have packed up everything that I shared with you and thus essentially have packed up you. I am not moving away from you. I am not forgetting. I am simply surviving. I am going through the motions. I am doing what has to be done for the sake of our children. Anthony and Aaron have helped me so much since you've been gone. Neither of them have actually ever told me no or complained about helping me. They are gracious and compassionate. You were blessed with great friends and I think you'd be happy that they are taking care of your family without asking for anything in return.
Speaking of a home I think I want to purchase a house. I think you'd like that as that was a dream we had together but hadn't reached a point where it was possible yet. There's a house, actually there are a few houses on the market that you did work in. One in particular that I want. I like the idea of having a home that has something you touched. A piece of you, something to tell the kids you did. Of course, that's only one side of the coin. On the other side, I have guilt over this. I am going to buy a house with social security income and I can't help but feel like it's blood money of sorts. I know you would laugh and tell me that, that is ridiculous. You would want us to have a house to call our home. A house to raise our kids. You would tell me that it is financially responsible to put money into something that I own rather than throwing away money on a rental. I know you're right, but I don't like the idea that you had to die to make my owning a home a reality. I hate it actually. I'd be willing to live in a box underneath an underpass if it meant having you back. I'd go anywhere or do anything if it meant I could do it with you.
On the day of the funeral I watched a couple walk down the street holding hands and realized I was bitter. I was bitter that this little old couple had gotten so many years together and I had, had my forever shattered. Ripped from my hands in one swoop. I watched a homeless man stop on the corner and I had a terrible thought, why couldn't it have been him instead of you. No one would miss him anyway, I thought to myself. We miss you. We shouldn't have to miss you. I feel badly for my thoughts, they were cruel, but even now a month later, I am jealous of the happy couples. Heck, I am jealous of the unhappy couples because at least they're together. Fortunately, in my jealousy, I am still happy for them. I am happy for the happy couples and the unhappy couples that are trying to find their way back to happy. I want them to love and be loved. I want them to love and to find within each other the passion that we had. I want them to enjoy life and enjoy each other. I want them to appreciate what they have and to realize that tomorrow everything might be different so to hold tight to what they have for today. I want them to have and to be all of these things, but admittedly I don't want to see it. I don't want to see it because it stings. It reminds me of the harsh reality of things. It serves to cement in my mind what I've known to be the truth for thirty days, but can't seem to accept....you are gone and you aren't coming back. I can scream, plead, cry, and curse, but this fact isn't changing. I can wish that or wonder why it wasn't someone else. I can ask a million questions and speculate the million different answers that these questions may have, but it doesn't bring you back. The fact is that I am a widow and our children are fatherless.
I'm still angry with God over that. I am so angry that I don't even want to look at your bible let alone open it, but I am still praying. I am praying for your family and for your friends. I am praying for my heart and for help surviving. Mostly, I am praying for our children. That they continue to love you. Continue to love you and remember that you were a good man. I pray that they do not become bitter the way that I have. You wouldn't want that for them. I am also constantly reminding myself that I don't understand and that is okay, because he is God and I am not. I am reminding myself that although this doesn't feel good, that it may never feel good, that God is still good. These are things you reminded me constantly when you were here and that I know you would be reminding me still if you were here. I am trusting him even in my anger because this is the type of situation where I have no other choice but to trust. Maybe someday I won't hurt, maybe someday I won't be bitter, and maybe someday I will look at my life with joy despite my circumstance, but today is not that day and I am thankful that God loves me in spite of that. I am thankful that my God is big enough to handle all of my emotion whether it is misplaced or not.
I hope one day I won't have so many questions, but rather peace.
Until that day, I love you. I miss you. Forever.
Always,
Jess
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