August 28, 2011
Dear You,
I’ve been crying deep gut wrenching sobs, the kind that feel like they are tearing apart your body. I cleaned our bedroom today. I found pictures my daughter drew of our family. I found cards you gave me and a paper where we had written your first name with my last name four times in different ways. I found your black suit jacket, the suit jacket I love so much on you. I also found two cards you left for me, one for mother’s day and one for our anniversary. I ignored the pain each new find brought up. I knew if I stopped cleaning and gave into it the room would never get done. I threw away all the garbage, washed the clothes, swept and mopped the floor. I brought in my old bed and set it up in place of where ours used to sit. Then I looked around and let myself begin to grieve. I pulled your jacket from the floor and laid it out on the bed. It’s so small; the shoulders so narrow, small and perfect like you. I picked up the cards and sat down on the bed. First I read the mother’s day card. It said how lucky you and my daughter were to have me in your lives. I laughed at the untruth of that statement. Then I read the anniversary card you gave to me. I didn’t even remember the things you said in it because I was so blind and stupid when you gave it to me. The love and devotion you felt toward me is so clear in every word. That’s when they started. I breathed deeply and let the pain take over every inch of me. I don’t know how long I cried, how long I clutched your jacket to my chest and cursed myself for ruining my life, our life. I sat in front of the mirror and told myself that this is my life now and nothing I can do will change it. I’m trying to accept that, trying to understand that you are truly gone. I don’t know if I have yet. I’m afraid that if I do these dark and dangerous thoughts that have been swirling in my mind will take over. I wonder if everyone wouldn’t be better off if I wasn’t here, everyone including me.
Me
Dear You,
I’ve been crying deep gut wrenching sobs, the kind that feel like they are tearing apart your body. I cleaned our bedroom today. I found pictures my daughter drew of our family. I found cards you gave me and a paper where we had written your first name with my last name four times in different ways. I found your black suit jacket, the suit jacket I love so much on you. I also found two cards you left for me, one for mother’s day and one for our anniversary. I ignored the pain each new find brought up. I knew if I stopped cleaning and gave into it the room would never get done. I threw away all the garbage, washed the clothes, swept and mopped the floor. I brought in my old bed and set it up in place of where ours used to sit. Then I looked around and let myself begin to grieve. I pulled your jacket from the floor and laid it out on the bed. It’s so small; the shoulders so narrow, small and perfect like you. I picked up the cards and sat down on the bed. First I read the mother’s day card. It said how lucky you and my daughter were to have me in your lives. I laughed at the untruth of that statement. Then I read the anniversary card you gave to me. I didn’t even remember the things you said in it because I was so blind and stupid when you gave it to me. The love and devotion you felt toward me is so clear in every word. That’s when they started. I breathed deeply and let the pain take over every inch of me. I don’t know how long I cried, how long I clutched your jacket to my chest and cursed myself for ruining my life, our life. I sat in front of the mirror and told myself that this is my life now and nothing I can do will change it. I’m trying to accept that, trying to understand that you are truly gone. I don’t know if I have yet. I’m afraid that if I do these dark and dangerous thoughts that have been swirling in my mind will take over. I wonder if everyone wouldn’t be better off if I wasn’t here, everyone including me.
Me
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