Questions

My Dearest Husband,

I haven’t written to you in a while. I guess I sort of needed to not write directly to you for a little bit even though most of my posts end up being to you, for you.

It has been a really hard few months. It seems as though things are getting harder to handle once again. Other widows often say that the second year is one of the hardest. Probably because during the first year you are in such a fog you can’t see and can’t recognize the loss that you have. You know it is there, you feel it with every fiber but the fact that everyday life seems to stop for you makes it seem as if all is just a dream and that it was only yesterday that you were here. Now I feel like the days pass and have passed and you are really not coming home. I cry more and more every day. Again. I’m crying right now just having to type the you are not coming home. It is real now – or I’m faced with the reality now – more so than I have been the past year. It is just hard to explain…unless you are here to – a widow.

Your son has grown so very much as all little boys do. He asks about you. The first time was a few months ago right after we went back to Portland at the one year mark. It was as if something about that trip spurred his memories of you. Lately though, he has been asking about you more often. He points to the sky and says ‘Daddy’. And he does it at odd times…

Last night I got really upset and was just hurting for you. I couldn’t hold back the tears from him and decided to just let it go. He came up to me and tilted his head towards one side and down a bit and furrowed his brows and looked up at me…just like you did when you knew something was wrong. He does so many things that you did. Plays with his fingers, looks at me in certain ways, says things…it is amazing. I wonder how many more funny things he would be doing if you were here. And whether or not I’d be happy about them…

I get so fucking mad that you are not here to help me raise him. That you are not here to see him or me. That you are not here for him to know. To really really know. God how I get mad about that.

I’ve said it so many times before but I’ll continue saying it for the rest of my life, I miss you. I miss absolutely everything about you. Even the parts I wasn’t so thrilled about but could live with. I want it all back. I want our little apartment, our bills, our Saturdays, our laughs, our tears – I WANT IT BACK!

I love you. I’ll always love you. You knew me so much better than I know myself – I miss that. I miss having you there to hold me up, to make me laugh. To look at me with your look of just knowing me…

Yours in this life and the next.

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