October 12th - A Letter of Love

To my dearest Love,

Yesterday completed yet another cycle to this situation of grief, life and learning. Two years ago phone calls were made, people were informed, and so began the deep stabbing pain that surround my heart. Life changed that day in so many ways. I sat staring off into space trying to figure out who would I turn to now to make my side-slightly-sarcastic peanut galley commentary to? Who would I call at the end of the day to say I was safe at home? How was the garage door going to sound now it wasn’t the sign that you were home?

All these things flooded my mind as if I stood face on and accepted whatever tsunami was coming towards me. This has been a path that I wish on no one and yet one that I think has taught me so much about life, love and the overall pursuit of happiness. I never took the little things in life for grated; however, I could never being to think about how much those little things meant to me and how in the months and years after your death I missed how those moments were erased from my life. There is something to be said about waking up in the morning and seeing the way the sun glided over your face and the peace that seemed endless in those moments before you would waked. Those were my favorites parts of my day.

Love, you know if I could, I would climb to the clouds and sit outside heaven’s door just to hear you breathing. In life I hung on every moment we had and treasured it. I spent most of this second year angry. Yes angry at doctors that gave you more pain medicine than I thought you needed, angry at cancer, your mom’s doctors for not ever explaining what it meant to have a parent with cancer, and down right furious at those in your life who filled it with pain. I thought I had moved past some of that anger, but yesterday on a run while I thought about during that exact time you were being taken away and I was confronted with people that were just purely toxic. However, in that same run, I left those demons out on the side of the road. They haven’t contacted me in almost a year and to be honest – I wouldn’t have it any other way.

While on my run I went down the trail we used to walk all the time and there among the trees was a little daisy. Just one. Blowing in the wind with all its bright yellow glory. It reminded me of the time you went out and bought my grandmother a Gerber daisy after hurricane Katrina. It was your way of trying to reach out to her and explain in your non-verbal way that even in great moments of tragedy there is also a choice to care and nurture the situation to being thus the beauty of life. She kept that flower living until she passed away. That little flower meant the world to her. And as I passed this little flower on my run I remembered the grace you had with life. It’s what helped me leave some of those demons out there. Yes I will have my moments when I let those shadows enter my mind and dwell long enough for a cup of tea, but trust me when I say I’m working on not inviting them back in.

One of the hardest parts about all of this was we were the greatest team. Yes we were strong people alone – but together we were unstoppable. And it’s taken me a long time to build my self-back up to the person I was. But then again I will never be that person I was. You can never go back when you have experienced something like this. You just have to accept that you’ve changed and pray that those changes are for the best.

Are those changes for the best? Well we will see. I’ve been writing like there is no tomorrow and all I can do is hope and pray that the words that flow across my computer will one day help Ethan in his understanding of what we had in life. And maybe it helps someone else who doesn’t have the love and support that I was given through our friends and family. But then again as you always say – “only time will tell”.

You’re story, your fight, your loving spirit will keep moving forward with Ethan and I. I even debated in a year or so becoming a volunteer consular for those people going through similar situations, but not just yet. I still have work to do to clear out my own mental hording of some things. But you move me to better my self and those around me.

Christopher, you are such a great man. Only a great man could move people years after death to want to better themselves and those around them. You amaze me daily; from the wonderful son we have and how smart and observant he is about the world around him to the little moments in my life when I can feel you standing next to me. You would be so proud of us both.

Love, I am so honored that we had so much time together even though it was cut short. I cherish those years more than you might have even known. You taught me so much about life and myself and while this not-so-new start has it momentary rough patches, I try to remember your love for everything to keep me focused. I know that you will no longer be able to catch me when I fall or keep me from falling, but your memory is what gives my feet the strength to stand up again and face this life with both eyes wide open.

You are the glimmer in my eye when I talk to people who need hope and the shadows on my wall when I myself need comfort. You amaze me love, thank you for everything.

I love you.

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