Dearest Nathan,
It's been so long since I've written. Not because I didn't have words. Not because I didn't want to and certainly not because I stopped thinking about you but rather because I lack the energy to do much of anything outside of taking care of the kids. I lack the energy and the time and if I'm honest probably the attention span too. The latter being an effect of widowhood. All I can say is I'm sorry.
Loneliness is not a surprising aspect of widowhood. In fact I'd like to think that even the people who have never been through this, know this to be true, it’s a no-brainer. But frankly, I don't believe that lonely is a strong enough word.
Lonely doesn't adequately put a word to the deep silence that comes with losing a spouse. The quiet that I have felt since losing you. And it doesn’t matter if I am standing in the middle of a crowded room or with my best friends or laughing with the kids, I still feel it. It’s the quiet that comes when I don’t have that familiar voice whispering in my ear while we are out, “Can you believe she is wearing that? I mean, where are her parents? Aria won't ever dress that way" It’s the missing sound of two glasses clinking together on our anniversary. It’s the absence of you breathing soundly next to me as we go to sleep at night.
Our friends and family try to be good about making sure that I know that I am not alone. And trust me I know, I know that I am not friendless. But I am alone. My marriage was amputated in the prime of my life and what many don't understand is that for me, there is no prosthesis.
I have, since losing you, found comfort in an online support group and in people like Nikki and Kayla both of whom I've never met and that has helped relieve the discomfort of this loss of limb a little. It’s like taking two over the counter strength Motrin after extensive surgery. It eases the throbbing a bit, but when I look down, the limb is still missing.
I have found support from strangers who don’t know me but are as close as I can come to confiding in people who know exactly what I am dealing with. I tell these strangers some of the most intimate details of my life, knowing that out of thousands of people, they might actually understand and that out of thousands of people, they won't be heartless enough to say, “You did what? You’re crazy!” Or "you think what? You're a lunatic". That they're one of a few that will never tell me they're tired of hearing about you.
Because, if nothing else, we all have crazy and the insatiable desire to talk about our spouses in common.
They get that a sleepless night with a newborn is one thing while a sleepless night with a dead spouse is a whole other monster and a sleepless night with an infant or a toddler or both and a dead husband? Especially one that died the way that you did? There's nothing more painfully cruel and unfair. They understand how guilt, anger, frustration, exhaustion, and unspeakable sadness all come in a beautifully wrapped package with our names on it, signed “With Love, Widowhood.”
They understand that with you gone, I have lost the person that I would have leaned on when the worst thing I could have possibly imagined happening…happened. It’s almost like I need to roll over in bed and say in total disbelief, “Did you hear that you died? And you were so young!” This would be followed by a hug from you, a pat on the back, and the murmuring of some comforting words while I cried on your shoulder, but instead when I roll over, you already know that you've died and I realize that you're still gone and I am alone and unfortunately, these women understand this.
I don’t think that most people who haven’t experienced the loss of a spouse truly understand that element of solitude. And that’s the very foundation of what makes this so lonely. You are the one who cared when something really great or really bad happened and you are missing. You, the person who was just as excited and saddened by the milestones of our kids is someplace else. You, who was just as invested in our lives and the decisions we made is now enjoying everlasting comfort while I slug it out down here on my own.
I can pinpoint the exact moment that I truly felt this change. I mean, the time when I realized that this was it, that I had catapulted from married to involuntarily widowed. Sawyer looked outside and said "mama, daddy Nathan is here". I looked out the window and saw our car sitting out front (they'd forgotten to tell me they brought it over) and I thought "oh good he's home early maybe we can go to the park..".
I think there was an audible thud as reality came crashing down on me standing there staring out the window. It happened again last Sunday. I added Aria to the church system. The man said "so the family includes Nathan,Jessica, Sawyer, and now Aria-Lyn" and I said yes enthusiastically.
As I was walking down the stairs reality came down on me like a ton of bricks so earth shattering and soul crushing I'm surprised I didn't tumble the rest of the way down as I realized that no, the family only includes Jessica, Sawyer, and Aria-Lyn.
I would walk through fire, give anything and do everything just for one more day, one more conversation with you, the love of my life. I’ve had dreams about it. We’re just lying in bed and I’m telling you all about what the kids are doing and the milestones they're hitting. We both know that you're gone, but I’m filling you in anyway.
Those are the mornings I wake up and feel the most alone, the most like I’m missing that appendage. And even though there are so many people I could call who would commiserate with me, they’re just not in my head and in my heart living my life. They want to understand and they do sympathize, some might even empathize, but they don't understand.
And does it make sense when I say when I’m feeling this way sometimes I just want to be left alone? No? Well this is the crazy I was telling you about.
The only non nutty thing I know for sure is that I miss you. And I love you. Forever.
Always,
Jess
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