I'd go anywhere and do anything if it meant I could do it with you...

Nathan,

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

I'm overwhelmed, I'm underwhelmed, and I am tired....

Nathan,

Tomorrow it will be one month since you died and my life was suddenly thrown into chaos. That's thirty full days that I've somehow managed to do the impossible...survive without you. Thirty days. It seems like both such a short and long amount of time. I'm not really sure how I feel about the concept of time. Actually, if I'm honest I'm not sure how I feel about a lot of things anymore.   For instance, people keep telling me how strong I am. They mean it as a compliment, but it just makes me want to shake them. It's not their fault, they mean well, but the fact is that strength has nothing to do with my survival.  I maintain survival, I continue to breathe because I have no other choice. Our babies need at least one of us and since you're already gone, the job obviously lands on my shoulders.

 Another thing I'm not sure about are all the silly hoops that they make a widow jump through to accomplish anything.  I tried to change the titles to our vehicles and was informed it has to be exactly thirty days before I'm able, as if within that thirty days you might show up and object.  I also have to have your birth certificate in order to apply for benefits and you managed to meticulously file everything in an orderly fashion except for that.  The first thing I asked was whether the death certificate would suffice. No was all the lady said. No explanation or an I am sorry. Simply no. It makes sense because how can you die if you were actually never born.  Except that it actually makes no sense at all, but I wasn't going to argue.  The next call I make is to find out how I go about getting your birth certificate. I thought it would be simple considering I'm the spouse. I was wrong. I can't get your birth certificate at all because you're not available to sign a notarized letter giving approval. Once again, you may come back and raise hell.  The woman on the phone went on to tell me that the parents listed on your certificate can request a copy.  Being the inquisitive lady that I am, I asked what could be done if both your parents were deceased. Her answer?i don't know.  Again no explanation or even an I'm sorry. No offer to find out or connect me to a supervisor. Simply an I don't know.  I was suddenly acutely aware of the reason that I always had you deal with this sort of thing. You dealt more diplomatically with people whom either lack intellect or just aren't very good at their jobs. I wanted to scream but instead I thanked her and hung up.  Luckily your dad was both alive and willing to order me a copy.

I haven't even attempted to deal with your insurance or your student loans yet. I've also not bothered with DES. I will, I'm just tired and thusly unmotivated. I could easily blame the exhaustion on the single parent title I acquired upon your sudden and untimely death. I could even place the blame on my grief. No one would question me I'm sure but in truth I'm not positive it is either of those things. I mean, they contribute, of course, but the real cause is that I'm tired of the looks and the sympathetic voices.  Every new person I have to give a death certificate to is another person who is then privy to our story. To your end.  They don't verbalize it, but I know what they're thinking "Aw, this poor girl. She hardly looks old enough to be married let alone widowed and with two kids. She must be so overwhelmed."   In their defense people don't usually realize I'm about to be thirty but even if they were they wouldn't think that was old enough to be a widow. They are right though, I am overwhelmed. I'm overwhelmed and I am underwhelmed and I am tired.  What the person hearing my story usually says though is "I've seen a lot of this recently. Must be the holidays."  I think they say it to make me feel better. It doesn't, but I smile and nod or say probably because getting upset will only serve to make an uncomfortable situation more uncomfortable.

That's something I've learned while dealing with this. Most of the things people say are said to make themselves more comfortable. I can't fault them, I'm sure if I were in their shoes I'd do the same, but I've also realized that when people don't know what to say, they generally say something completely inappropriate rather than doing what they should which is to keep their mouth closed. Again, I can't fault them it's human nature.   Then again,  I can say now that I am thirty days into this that a thousand people will say a thousand stupid things and all the grieved really wants is for them to give one reason why she shouldn't allow her broken heart to kill her.

Speaking of a broken heart, I think that it's made me more introverted. You and I were always pretty introverted, really only tolerating the company of others for short spurts of time. I used to joke that were like electric drills. We required at least a twenty four hour charge to get two hours of socialization from us. You always agreed but since you've been gone I've become more than introverted, I've become isolated. Not for lack of people in my life but rather that I am still deeply grieved and I think that not only makes people uncomfortable but that they're tired of hearing about it and you now.  Tahnya and Lindsey are exempt from this, if I disappear for too long they show up at my door. I am thankful for that. I think you would be too. Your dad asks me to the house at least once a week. I always accept the invitation, I think that would also make you happy. I also see Aaron a lot but that's only because he is helping me with your garage and more specifically the Supra. Yes, I'm going to drive it. Another thing to add to the list of things that would make you happy.  Others text often, but I'm not good at responding. I don't have anything to say and I'm content not leaving the house unless I must. That wouldn't make you happy but it is what it is.

Many of your friends have reached out to me. Jada is giving me your enchilada recipe and Keira spent the afternoon talking to me trying to make sense of this unfathomable tragedy. We weren't successful other than deciding that you made a very poor and impulsive decision. She misses you. Everyone does. I wish you'd realized how loved you were that night. If you had I know things would be different.

I love you. I miss you. Forever.

Always,
Jess

It's been nearly 30 days....

My dearest Nathan,

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

I did not choose nor did I want this life...

Nathan,

I am two things I never thought I would be after I said I do. No, that's not true. I am many things I never thought I would be after we married, but two of these things are bigger than and contribute to the rest.  I am a widow and a single parent. Those words seem so weird and foreign to me and yet nevertheless they are my reality and they will remain my reality no matter how many times I cry, beg, plead, and wish it weren't. 

Sawyer is two and a half and as you know, both the most determined and stubborn little boy on the face of the earth. He has a sweet soul but he knows what he wants and doesn't and he has a strong sense of what is fair and what isn't.  Our daughter is about to be two months and she is a sweet baby. One most would classify as good but she is needier than Sawyer ever was and it never fails that any time her brother needs something she decides to cry.   

There's no doubt that parenting is hard, kids do not come with any sort of instructions or a cheat sheet. It's magnified by the fact that for half of Sawyer's life and one month or Aria's, I had you to pick up the slack and to help me on the harder days. I had you to give me a break when I thought I might snap and then suddenly and without warning you were gone and I was thrust into figuring out how to do it by myself. 

The kids need fed, the bills need paid, the kids need baths, toys need picked up, and my homework needs done. It's a lot for one person. It's never ending. I get it, this is what parenting is and it's hard regardless of circumstance. This is parenting and I signed up for it. I was a willing participant. However, I signed up WITH you and you're no longer helping to shoulder the burden and there is something inherently different about widowed parenting.  Particularly when one is widowed in the way that I was. Traumatically and without any warning.  There is a deep loneliness. A desperation to hear your voice reassure me that I'm doing okay. A longing to feel your arms embrace me.  A desperation that makes ever decision that has to be made cut all the way through the heart and soul. 

Every tantrum thrown and every second that Aria is fussy without cause, I am acutely reminded of your absence. I haven't got a husband to turn to and my sweet children with all their wide eyed wonder and innocence have been touched by tragedy that has left them fatherless.  What would you say if I could vocalize my struggles and have you respond?

Losing you has been the hardest thing I've ever had to survive through and it's likely that I won't encounter anything more difficult in my lifetime. At least I'm hopeful that I won't.  Our wedding day was one of the three happiest of my life, we had so many plans and we had a lifetime to make them happen.  And even if I knew then what I know now, I would still marry you each and every time. 

I'm glad I didn't know though, because there would have been a darkness that loomed over our marriage and memories. We were married a year, but were friends for 20+  and though we went through so much in that time,  I was so  blessed by it. I thought we had a lifetime but then we went to the store and when we came home my life was changed forever. I was widowed at 29 and my children, two and one month had lost their daddy.  

Sawyer may have a memory or two but they will be faded and foggy and Aria-Lyn won't have a single memory of her own.  You won't be there to teach Sawyer to ride a bike and Ari will never dance with you at a father/daughter dance, something you were looking so forward to doing.  You will never coach Sawyer's soccer team or help with homework. You won't be there to teach Aria what a real man looks like and question all her dates. You won't be there when they go off to college or to give Aria away and give Sawyer marital advice when they are lucky enough to find the love that I found within you. 

I continually ask myself why and what.  Why you thought this was your only answer and what changed in the span of an hour. Why didn't you realize we could and would overcome everything just as we had in the past  and what went through your head in the moment before you pulled the trigger? It's a daily struggle and I am sure that I will never have answers to these unfathomable questions. I don't think I'd understand how you could leave us even if I did have the answers. 

The idea that you're gone, that I'm forever without you, that I've lost you brings me to my knees. It breaks my heart and shatters my soul over and over, multiple times a day.  The only things that give any semblance of peace are that I had you and that I will have you again someday in Heaven.   All of this is painful. I'm often consumed by grief that shakes me to my core, I hate that the life we had together, the one I loved so much is gone, but I will ensure that whatever life remains in it's place for our children and I, you will ALWAYS be a part of it. 

The greatest truth I've learned in this? There is no one lonelier than a widow. 

This is because the widow was lucky enough to find love. To find someone who saw not only their heart and their strengths but their flaws and loved them anyway. The widow is both so lucky and so very unlucky at the same time. 

I love you. I love our children and someday I hope that I will learn to love the life that I have now. The one that I neither chose nor wanted. I suppose for now I will simply be grateful for the life that we had. That I had you.  You will live through the memories that I carry with me. I will be thankful that our children had you. You will live on through them. You are in them. There is not a single thing more wonderful than that.

I love you. I miss you. Forever. 

Always,
Jess

I grieve both for what was and what should have been...

Nathan,

I remember the day and the events leading up to the night that changed my life forever.   I remember the way you smiled as you held Aria and played cars with Sawyer.  I remember the way your cologne smelled in the wind as we walked up to the house after spending the day with my parents and some friends.  I remember the sound of your voice as we talked on the way to the store and I remember the way you reluctantly took Sawyer to look at fish and I remember everything that was and that wasn't said on the way back home. I remember getting the kids out of the car and watching you climb into the work van.  I remember the sound of the kids crying that pulled my attention from you and took me inside and I remember the sound that made me run back out.  I remember exactly what you looked like in that moment and it breaks my heart every time I see it.  I remember the sound of my voice as I was screaming and pleading for help, I sounded like someone I didn't recognize.   What I don't remember is most of the night that followed.   Actually, if I'm honest I don't remember the week that followed.  I remember the steady stream of visitors, my tears, and thinking I heard you knock on the door.  I remember having a lot that had to be done, but I don't really remember doing any of it.

I was in shock and I don't think that it wore off until the night after your celebration of life service.

What followed that night and what I likely will never forget is the immense pain, the insurmountable fear, the all consuming grief, the indescribable confusion, and mostly the heaviness that came with the realization that you were truly gone forever and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

I've learned a lot in the weeks that have followed, both from things I've read or talked about with other survivors and my own grief.  For instance I have learned that it is a strange and awful thing to have to learn to live without the one person that you simply can not live without.  It's not really living.  It's surviving. And survive I will, for the sake of our children.  That as a mother my grief is magnified by three because I grieve not only for myself, but for my children.  I have learned that in the face of tragedy, our community really comes together.  There are still great people in this world.  I have learned that both of our families are some of the most dependable people I know, I'd be lost without them.  I have learned that we have some of the greatest friends that a person could have, and I have learned that our church family is wonderful and that grief creates friendships that might not otherwise exist.

I've learned that I miss the little things the most.  The sound of your voice when you were happy, the way you took such pride in our kids, our evening conversation over coffee, and the way you kissed my forehead before work each morning.  I've learned that I don't want to be without you.  I don't want to be a single parent, and I don't want to be alone, but more than that I don't want to be with anyone else.  People say I might change my mind, and I may, but one thing is for certain, I won't ever marry again.  I will die a Keener and I will die proudly remaining your wife, and I will be buried next to you when I do.  I doubt there is a man alive that could deal with any of that and frankly, that's okay with me.

I've learned it's exhausting being a single parent, especially to more than one child.  It is especially exhausting when it was never in your plan to be those things.  I've learned that our two year old is very literal because when I point up and tell him that you're in Heaven, he looks up and says nope, he's not up there and then looks at me like I've gone mad.  I have also learned that his grief has become anger.  He is mad at you because he wants to see you.  He tells me this almost daily and it hurts me so deeply I can't put it into words. I have learned that although our infant doesn't understand what is going on or the magnitude of what she has lost, she does understand that something is different.  She starts to get fussy around five or six o'clock each evening and continues until her bedtime.  I've decided that it's because the first thing you always did after work was take off your shirt, wash your hands, and then hold her.  She misses you too and she'll miss you more as she ages.  This also hurts me so badly that I am not sure I could accurately describe the feeling.

I've also learned that with grief comes longing.  The longing for everything to be okay.  The longing for everything to be as it once was, and the longing for what could have been.  I grieve for what was, but I also grieve for what should have been.  I cry for the plans that we made, both the small and the big.  My heart breaks for the dinners with friends we won't have, the travelling that we won't do, the house we won't buy, and the cruise we won't take.  I cry for the moments that you'll miss.  The first day of kindergarten, the high school and college graduations, the weddings, and the eventual grand kids that we will likely have.  I also grieve the fact that I dreamed of growing old with you, looking back on our lives with joy and thankfulness and now I will have to do that without you.  I have learned that my life will never be the same and that I will never understand why.

The two  biggest things that I have learned, however, are that suicide grief is different from other grief and that the question WHY, is one I hate.

The grief is different for a multitude of reasons, neither sadder nor necessarily more difficult, but certainly different.   The first being that it often lasts much longer than the normal.  There are plenty of reasons for this, the unanswered questions, the guilt, the trauma, and the unexpectedness of the entire thing.   Not only that but when one dies the way that you did, the spouse is tied into their story in a way that makes removing themselves impossible,  they are tied into the story in a way that you aren't with other types of death.   When one dies from a terminal illness no one asks you what happened or looks at you with shock at the news, and they don't ask you what went so horribly wrong as to have caused the death.   I don't think people want to know the nitty gritty details (some do, I guess), but rather that they can't wrap their head around a death like yours.  This is especially true when the person was not only young like you, but had been so looking forward to the future as you had been.  People understand that cancer will likely eventually kill, that being a police officer or a soldier is dangerous, and when a person has a heart attack it leaves little to be questioned.

With a suicide, this is not the case.  People are surprised ninety eight percent of the time and the first question out of their mouth are "but why would he do that" and that's generally followed with "Did you notice anything?" or it's worse counterpart, "How didn't you notice anything?"  and after those questions are answered they move on to "Was he depressed? Did he have mental illness?  Did something happen that day?"  And just like that I am right back in the night.  I see everything all over again and I am up to my eyeballs in pain, trauma, and questions.  I can choose not to answer these questions, of course, but that doesn't make the asking of them any less painful.  The person left behind after a death like this is constantly forced to be apart of the story, to relive the never ending nightmare again and again as if they had something to do with it, simply because they were a part of your life.  They were the other occupant in the house, the one who saw you immediately after the shot was fired.  It is assumed that they have knowledge of the deceased's reasoning and thus it becomes their job to make some sense of the horrific tragedy for the asker.

As if those questions weren't enough to contend with, I also must add my own questions.  Was this planned?  Did I miss something huge?  I look at pictures and think back on our memories and I smile, but in the back of my mind I also question whether you were truly happy there or not because of what has happened.  Did you know you would do this eventually?   The only answer I think I know, is that this wasn't planned.  It was a spur of the moment choice, and one  that I think you would regret if you could have regrets in Heaven.  The rest I will likely never be able to answer.  With "normal" deaths there are no philosophical questions, no over thinking, or late night pondering that re break your heart over and over again.  I'm jealous of those whom lose their spouses from ways we consider typical or normal which isn't something I ever thought I would say.

I am pushing through the grief.  I am making my way through the questions.  I am finding my way through single parenthood,  and I am trying to convince myself not to think about my own why questions anymore.  I haven't been completely successful but I am hopeful that one day they won't matter anymore, because even with the answers I won't be able to change it.  I am moving.  I am surviving.  I can't do much more than that right now, but as I am grieving I am also learning and though you and I were generally private people, I am finding that the more I learn the more I want to share, in hopes that maybe I can save someone like you, even though I couldn't save you or that I can help someone like me, who has found themselves in the midst of a loss and a grief that they never thought they'd be in.

Maybe that's silly, I don't know.  What I know though is that we miss you.  We love you.  Forever.

Always,
Jess

You weren't just a step dad...

Nathan James

We went to a friend's yard sale to buy their crib for Aria and some how also ended up with a pink strider bike for Sawyer. You told me you could paint it to match his uniform. I was skeptical, you were excited. You went to the store an eagerly purchased numbers and paint before finally heading to work, letting me know you were going to start making it just right when you got home. I just laughed. I still wasn't convinced. I should have known you could do it, you were a man of many talents and never ceased to amaze me. Still, this I had to see to believe.

That night, you didn't know this, but I watched you from the back window. I watched you sand and paint the frame with a huge smile on your face, taking great care to ensure you did it just right. It had to be awesome for such an awesome little boy, is what you had told me earlier in the evening. I think the smile may have been because you'd be able to say I told you so later. I also think it was because you took great pride in our children and especially in teaching Sawyer about something you also loved.

You never believed it, but you were an amazing daddy. You met Cory at the bike store without me and you did it without any complaint and when I asked if it had been awful you said no because it wasn't about you or him, it was about Sawyer. If that weren't enough to prove my point, you also wore a Team Nutt shirt proudly, it takes a strong and amazing man to wear another man's name. Especially when that man had dated the girl you insisted you'd loved since high school. I don't know if that were true but I know you sure loved me in that moment.

However, it was the small moments when you didn't think I was paying attention where your love really shone. When you rolled in the grass and played in the dirt. When you went down the slide 100 times and let him drink over half your milkshake without getting upset. When you'd play cars after work even though you really just wanted to shower and relax. The way you bought him fish after he was officially potty trained. When you'd hold him after a nightmare and let him sleep with his head on your chest and how you always made sure to kiss him in the morning before work and call him on your lunch break. How you worked a painstaking amount to ensure we got to have an amazing family vacation. And more than that how you took time to patiently teach him new things, which included peeing on a tree much to my dismay and how even in your discipline you were both steadfast and kind making sure that he knew you loved him even when he was misbehaving.

In truth, although you always corrected people whom asked you if you were excited to be a dad, by telling them you were already a dad but that you were so excited to have a girl, my biggest fear was always that you might favor Aria unintentionally. You never did though. From the moment I allowed you into Sawyer's life you never looked at him as anything but your son, you loved him as if he were your own flesh and blood and you made sure your family did too. You were never just a step parent. You were a daddy. For that I am so grateful. He misses you tremendously but he was blessed to call you daddy nathan for as long as he did and I will make sure he knows how much you adored him.

By the way, Caleb finished the bike for you. It looks amazing. I think you'd be so pleased.

We love you. Forever.

Always,

Jess

He doesn't understand

Nathan,

Sawyer was talking about you today. How you're a big boy and how you're not scared of him and he's not scared of you (whatever the heck that means) and about all the things you'd do when you get back from heaven. I reminded him you're with Jesus and he said yeah but I miss him.

He misses you so darn much. So do I. We all do. I wish you would have known how wonderful you were. I wish you could have seen yourself through mine and the kids eyes.

I don't know what is worse, the pain of what happened or the pain of what should have been. We are permanently an incomplete puzzle and you are our missing peace.

We love you.

Love,
Jess