Dear Jon,

Three weeks. My life has been over for three weeks. I simply exist now, sometimes medicated (more often than not), and always broken. I know I have plans. You wanted me to go to school, so I’m going. You wanted me to get a house. I’m getting one. You wanted me to take care of the girls. I’m taking care of them.

But none of these things take up enough time for me to forget, or pretend that you’re simply working too much, instead of gone. Completely.

They say that you don’t really realize the stark reality of death right away. They say that the first few weeks and months, you’re sort of walking in a fog, letting things happen as you coast through the first part of the grieving process.

I don’t understand that. There hasn’t been a single moment since the moment you turned blue before my eyes, that I didn’t know you were gone and I was alone. Everyday, it’s more and more real to me. More and more concrete.

You are a memory. A face in pictures that I cannot touch. You are no longer the warm body in my bed that kept me safe. You are no longer the face I looked up at, when you came home from work. What a privilage! To look into your eyes and say “Hi.” the way we did, after long, unstructured conversations about everything we knew.

You are simply three weeks into my past. And you left me here.

I do not blame you for abandonment, but I feel abandoned nonetheless. I have to live. I have to. Because I have things to do still. I have little faces to take care of, and they have no one, without me. No one who will love them the way WE did. No one who will instill OUR morals and principles, and our ideals and goals. And so I stay, because I have to.

But it’s terribly unfair. It’s terribly wrong that one month ago, we were looking at houses, and spending our Saturdays in indulgent laziness. Instead of me, trying to fill the days with random things to do, to stay away from this place.

This shoebox that used to be our home. Our haven.

I miss you. I wish I could go back in time. And as the weeks go by, it will be longer and longer from the time I had seen your face in this place. Longer and longer since I felt your hands and wrestled in your arms. Longer and longer. And all our plans. All our promises, died in the lack of oxygen of our bedroom, only three weeks before.

I have aged. I hope it makes time move fast.

I love you, still.



Dear God,

Please don’t let me wait too long. Please help me see a reason to smile, that doesn’t include the obligations of my life. I need something to keep me going. Because I’m losing hope. And YOU promised to help me with that. YOU promised comfort for the mourning. I’m holding You to Your word. I need comfort, Lord. Because I’m faltering. Little by little, I’m falling away.