To Jason

Today,  I let myself actually miss you. Truly, I miss you all the time... but I push it away, because that longing quickly becomes way too much and it overwhelms me still.

But today, well, I'm a mess anyway.  I have a nasty cold, I can't remember the last time I took a shower, I leave the house only if I absolutely have to. I've worn nothing but pajamas.... even to see my new doctor. I sit and stare when I try to work on things, my attention span is laughable.  So today, I layed in bed "reading" and I thought about you.

And it hurt. It really, really hurts. The farther we get from the day you died, the more surreal the nightmare seems. You are so far away from me, shrouded in a protective layer of fog. But I can glimpse your smile in my memory now. It makes me cry when I think about your laugh. I don't allow myself to wish you were here because you just aren't- you never will be again- and I'm not strong enough to think about what might have been. I'm too busy trying to grasp this new reality.

We are doing ok. We are all struggling, in our own way, but we talk about you all the time. It keeps you near. I look at your picture every day.  You were so beautiful and I loved you so, so much. Your babies love you so much and they miss you terribly.  But we are making small strides. We are keeping it together, trying to move forward.

I keep thinking that one of these days I am going to wake up and "be myself" again but I'm slowly accepting that that isn't the entirety of me anymore. She was your wife, you were her husband and you held the moon and stars. That part of me has to be quiet now, she has to sit down and let the tougher parts of me emerge. Sometimes I sink down and she rises up, wailing. Maybe she just needs to for awhile,  so the other parts of me can recharge. (I know I sound crazy. I am.)

I missed you today. I love you always.