We are approaching the one month mark of this nightmare, one I never thought I would be forced to experience and if I'm honest I don't know how I've survived this long without you. Survived is a much more accurate statement than lived, because I certainly haven't done much living in the time that's passing. I should probably be angry with you. Angry that you made a choice that affected our entire family forever and you made it without consulting me. Ironically, that was what the last argument that we ever had was started over. I felt you made a decision and didn't even ask, let alone consider what I thought. I was so mad which seems silly now since the decision you made was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I was so mad over that ridiculous decision and yet, your final decision is exactly the opposite and I can't bring myself to be mad at you. Not even a little bit. Maybe it's because I know you didn't think about what you were doing and thus there wasn't intended malice or disrespect or maybe it's just that I love you so much that being upset with you seems like it disrespects what we shared. Whatever the reason I have not been mad once since this all started. Okay, I should rephrase. I haven't been mad at you. I have been mad at God. Misplaced anger, I realize. I know how it works, we have free will. He won't stop us from making our decisions. This wasn't his will. He simply allowed it because we live in a fallen world. I know all this. I believe all this. My faith hasn't waivered and yet I am angry with Him nevertheless because he could have given me some inclination that I needed to go to you, had someone call, or even caught our yard on fire. He could have done a number of things that would have saved my heart and the hearts of our families, particularly our children all of this pain and he didn't. I haven't accepted that yet and because I haven't accepted it, I can't bring myself to feel anything but anger toward him. Thankfully, he's a big and merciful enough God that he can handle it and not just handle it but understand and forgive it.
I have been a widow for nearly 30 days. Nearly 30 days of missing you. Nearly 30 days of grief, sorrow, pain, heartache, loneliness, adaptation, single parenthood, confusion, being scared, introspection, and mourning. It has been both the longest and the shortest 30 days of my life. Once I realized it had been that long, my brain being the analytical thing that it is, figured out that we had been friends for nearly 9,490 days when you died and had been married 355 days. Yep, 26 years of friendship only amounts to 9,490 days. The number of days that I was your friend will forever remain 9,490 days and the number of days that I was your wife will remain stagnant at 355 days. They are both unmoving and irreversible. 9,490 and 355. Unfortunately, the days I am a widow will gain momentum and increase steadily as I continue to survive and move forward in this new life I never wanted. The number of days I have been a widow will increase and eventually the number of days that I have been a widow will likely surpass both the number of days we were friends and the number of days we were married. That fact took me off guard and shook me to my core. It cause an unexpected wave of grief and emotion. It hurt almost as much as the initial realization that you were gone. It hurt almost as much as hearing the police officer tell me he was sorry when I asked if you were alive.
It always hurts to be left behind. It hurts even more to be left behind in such an unexpected and tragic manner. You left me behind with nothing but a memory box of 9,490 days of friendship and 355 days of marriage and an ever increasing day tracker of both widowhood and single parenthood.
Speaking of things I've been left with, I have a plethora of facebook and text messages as well as a small number of handwritten letters and songs. They are both awful and wonderful at the same time. I think people would be surprised by them because you were such a man's man. Hardworking and tough. But you were also kind, loving, and supremely sensitive. Your notes to me always came directly from your heart rather than your mind. In fact when people ask me about the kind of man you were I always think of these notes. You were kind, compassionate, and always willing to help shoulder other people's burdens. You were both thoughtful and grateful. We all have our flaws, troubles, and idiosyncrasies. You were no different. You were far from perfect but you were the perfect man for me.
These notes bring me to my knees. They break my heart and hurt me. And yet they beg me to be read because they remind me how much you loved me. I truly think you believed I would be okay or you wouldn't have taken your life. I'm not okay but maybe I will be someday. I don't know, but what I do know is that your notes aptly show the character of the man that you were...of the man that I loved.
think night is the worst part. My queen sized bed suddenly seems massive. When Sawyer isn't with me I prop pillows up so it doesn't feel so lonely. I still sleep curled up on my side as if you might come home and lay beside me. I reach my arm all the way across to your side and hope against all hope that my fingers will make contact with you. As if in our bed reality will fade away.
Why can't I have the life I wanted? I can't remember what my heart felt like before I lost you.
We love you. We miss you. Forever.
All my love, always,
Jess
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