Hi Baby Boy,
I know it's been a while since I've written to you. There have been so many times that I've just wanted to sit down and talk to you, to write you a letter, but life keeps happening. Well, I guess that's partially true...the other part is that as long as I don't think about how gone you really are from my life, I can breathe! I get busy and I even have good days. Days when I don't feel the pain. Days when I can put my grief aside and pretend that I'm happy. But, the truth of the matter is...it always comes back.
When I let myself think about our reality, it just crushes the breath out of me. I MISS you so much, Baby. I miss every single thing about you. I miss the fact that you always had my back, I miss that you protected me. I miss your kisses and holding your hand. I miss our life, Michael. I miss you so much.
It has been twenty months since you died. TWENTY months!!! In the beginning, when other widows told me that they had been widowed twenty months, I thought "wow, you must be over the pain by now". And, I think that so many people out there believe that the grief stops at a certain time. Six weeks? One Year? Surely by two years? And I thought the same thing before I was inducted into this club of the broken hearted. Now I know the truth. The truth is that the grief does not stop (at least not by twenty months). It softens at times, but the feeling of always having a part of you missing does not go away.
People ask me how I'm doing and I say "better..I'm doing better" and then I have to wonder if that person thinks that "better" means I've "gotten over" you. That I've stopped loving you or have forgotten you. And that's not it at all. When I say "I'm doing better" I mean that I took a shower and laughed and made the bed and went out in public despite the pain in my heart and I just want to call that person back and say "Hey, I still love my husband, I still talk to him every day, but today, I laughed out loud and so that means I'm doing better".
Yesterday was my birthday. You always made my birthday so special. I had wonderful friends and family to celebrate with this year, but I couldn't help but think of what we would be doing if you were still here. I listened to our favorite band and I closed my eyes and I was dancing with you. I closed my eyes and felt you hold my hands. But, Baby, the scary part was,when I closed my eyes, I couldn't remember how you sat in the chair at the club? Did you put both arms on the table? Did you turn towards the band and have both hands in your lap? And I felt like I had just lost another piece of you..because I couldn't remember!
As I sit here writing to you (I'm sorry, my thoughts are all over the place), all I can think of is this..I could bear the physical separation, I could bear the years that will come before we can be together again..I could bear all of that if I could only talk to you. If I could only hear your voice, ask your advice, hear you tell me that you love me and that everything would be okay. If only the separation didn't have to be so complete. If only God had allowed telephones in Heaven! If only our conversations could be two sided once again.
So many "if onlys" rule my world today, Michael. The world seems to be such an uncertain place without you here beside me, so I try to lean on the only certain thing I know. I lean on my faith. God is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow..of that I am certain.
I love you, Michael. And as always, I'll talk to you in my dreams.
Hebrews 13:8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever!
