Two Months

Dear Babe,

It has been two months. Sixty-two days. One thousand four hundred and eighty-eight hours. Too many minutes. Impossible seconds. It feels like I just woke up yesterday next to you. It also feels like I haven't heard your voice in years. It seems strange to me that time has kept passing. Days have been changing with no regard for the fact that you're not changing with them. The world has ushered in another season and yet you are forever in summer. It will never be Autumn for you again. Your winter clothes will never be brought out. You always hated the cold.

So much has changed in the wake of losing you. So much has remained stubbornly the same. Maybe one day I will relearn how not to contradict myself but as of now my life is one walking contradiction. Some days I wake up smiling and some days I wish I could hide under the covers with Orange. They all know you're gone. Orange, Big Black, Little Black, Vera, Atticus. Our whole little zoo. They are acutely aware of your absence and still actively seek you out. I remember after some nights of you drinking you would get emotional thinking about how Orange and Black were getting old. Sometimes you even cried. We would declare our animals off limits to Heaven. We would declare each other off limits to Heaven, too. How silly we were then. And so in love. And young. And healthy. With everything waiting for us ahead.

Sometimes I think about what I would choose if the future could be told. If I could've known before I lost you that you were going to depart - would I change anything? Everything? Nothing at all? If I knew, I think I would stare at you for one whole day, just memorizing you to my soul. Or maybe I would ask you to read to me  like you would when I was sick. I would bottle your words so I would have them on days like this when I would give my soul to hear you talk to me. Perhaps I would lay for hours in bed with your arms wrapped around me so I could learn how to give the hugs that you did. Did you know that I felt like my heart was safe every time I was in your arms? I think one of my favorite things would be thanking you for everything.

Thank you for accepting me exactly how I am.

Thank you for making me feel beautiful every single day.

Thank you for making me laugh so hard that I couldn't stop smiling.

Thank you for cooking the best grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Thank you for loving my family.

Thank you for always knowing how to scare away the monsters under the bed.

Thank you for your kisses.

Thank you for giving me butterflies Every. Single. Day.

Thank you for giving me the strength to get through these past two months of hell.

I don't think I would want to know. I don't think I would want to know what was coming. Because I would try in vain to stop it.and I would've ended up wasting the last seconds. The last moments of you being you. The last moments of us being us. Those last moments of you being here. Those moments give me my legs when I feel too weak to move on.

I miss you every minute. I love you every second.

Love,

Amanda

The Mourning of What Never Was

Dear Babe,

This is a hard one. Not that any of these, any of this, has been easy, but it's hard for me to even start writing this to you without tears streaming down my face.

Babe, I am so sorry I couldn't give you the babies we wanted so desperately. I have never been more sorry than for the fact that there are no physical reminders of the love that you and I shared, that there are no faces I can look into and see your light and mine mixed together. We dreamed of them often, we tried for them hard. We named them and gave them personalities and made our plans for them, Josephine and Thomas, ours until the end.

During the last failed treatment, which we could have never imagined would be the last, I broke down in the office. Do you remember how hard I cried? I cried so hard and so much and so long that you were afraid. I asked you if I you thought I couldn't get pregnant because I wouldn't be a good mother. And that's when you started crying, too. You sat down on the floor with me and you wrapped your arms around me, my head in the cuddling nook of your head and shoulder. We were so close that I could feel your tears merge with mine and  our pulses regulate until they were one steady rhythm. You told me it wouldn't be possible for me to not be a good mother. Just like breathing, you said, it would be that natural to me.

You told me that I would be the kind of mother that would sing her babies to sleep. You said I would make up songs that our babies would ask for by name that you would never be able to replicate when it was your turn to put them to bed. You said I would be the best storyteller and would do all the perfect voices. You said I would greet them with a smile every day, even if I was sad or mad or stressed or sick. You said I would be the best snuggler and would always let them stay awake for one more book. You said I would go to all of their games and recitals and be in the front row cheering for them. You said I would always make sure they knew they were loved. You said they would grow up strong and proud that I was their mother.

In all of my sorrow, I couldn't see it. Couldn't see the truth of what you were saying. I could only focus on what I did wrong to make our dream so unreachable. I never thought that it was just bad luck or maybe somehow the universe knew that you wouldn't be here too much longer and knew I couldn't bear to do it alone. I never realized that only a few short months later I would be willing to trade anything just for you, just to have you by my side. Our love would've been enough - more than enough. But there is something I need you to know, wherever you are.

It would have been impossible for you to not be a good father. You would have been the kind of father that made jokes while changing diapers. You would have been the one the kids were waiting for at the front door. You would have been the father that was the best at healing boo-boos. You would have been the father that made pancakes look like dinosaurs and would put an extra snack in their lunches. You would never get upset that there were toys left on the floor or that the bedrooms weren't clean. You would stay in the backyard past dark throwing balls and playing catch and teaching them how to shoot a basketball. You would have the funny jokes. You would coach the team. You would teach them math sooooo patiently after I gave up. You would teach them how to appreciate a good belly laugh.

You would hold their hands. You would give them kisses right on the mouth because they made you just that happy. You would teach him how to be a man and you would teach her how a real man treats a woman. You would let them cry. And when they cried you would sit down on the floor with them and wrap your arms around them. And your tears would merge with theirs. And you still would have the best cuddling nook.

Love,

Amanda

The Ones You Left Behind

Dear Babe,

It wasn't just me, you know. There were others left behind. People have been so gentle and tender with me, so very accommodating, that I didn't notice their pain until recently. I'm not the only soul walking around with a hole where you used to be. Part of me was surprised. I thought it was me and me alone who was bleeding out. Then there was the other part of me, the part so in tune to every aspect of you, that could see it plain as day. You were so full of love and life - it wouldn't make sense for me to be the only broken one.

I find myself both comforted and saddened by their pain. It would be easier to handle (I think) if it was my sorrow alone that I had to chronicle and be aware of. But it's everyone. From your family to my family to our friends, both shared and our own. Neighbors and colleagues and the people at our grocery store that you would joke around with. The delivery man from the pizza shop, the gas station attendant. Your dart team. Other dart teams. Contractors who worked at our house. All of these people knew you. All of these people had your light radiated upon them for at least a moment. Some of us lucky ones had more than just a moment. I had the most. Lucky, lucky me.

In the days - weeks now - since your death (I hate that word the most since it is so unforgiving and permanent) I have come to know you in the eyes of others. That has been one of my greatest joys in this land of darkness I am navigating through. I knew that you hung the moon and stars but it warms me to know that others knew it, too. I've heard stories - touching, hilarious...and some that were cringe-inducing - and mentally stored them away to reflect on later. Those are stories that you would have told me over the years. Stories that I never got to hear on lazy days with wine and the animals or as we drove in the car.

Those who knew and loved you are mourning in their own ways. Some with me and some on their own. Mostly a little of both. There are those that reach out to me even more than they did before and then there are those who have withdrawn from me, unable to face me alone as Amanda, instead of Amanda and Tom. I understand both. There is no right way to grieve and believe me, if there was, I would certainly be following those rules. Some have dove headfirst into life ahead - Life Without Tom - and some tread in the memories they shared with you, unable to see the future before them. I don't know yet where I fall. Somewhere in between the mountains of grief and the eternal skies of future life. We miss you. That's all I know for sure.

You have been honored. Whether through stories or memorials or picture boards or tattoos (I got one for you - our wedding poem which rings true just as much today as the day I promised to be yours forever) or memorializing you through the name of your dart team. Everyone carries a piece of you with them. We will never let your light burn out. We will never let your face fade from memory. We will never lose your name on our lips.

You will live forever in us and through us.

Love,

Amanda

The Spot

Dear Babe,

I drive by it every day now. The spot. That's what I call it. For weeks I couldn't bear to go past it and would beg anyone I was driving with to please take a detour. Even if it took extra time. Even if it didn't make sense. I couldn't go past where I lost you (why do people call it losing someone as if I overlooked where you were like a set of keys or my favorite earrings?). I heard your family was going to put a memorial there. I wanted so badly to lay a stake in the ground - YOU WERE HERE MY LOVE - but at the end just couldn't relegate you to a lonely cross in a median.

When I finally felt strong enough (another ridiculous word - strong - that's what they call it when you manage to make it through the day still breathing) I was in the car with Nicole and asked her to point it out. I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe some sort of villainous looking asphalt splayed with wreckage and rubble. Something that matched the way I felt inside. Something sinister. Instead, it was just a harmless patch of median with tall grass. A flattened and dark car sized patch was the only proof that you were ever there.

It took my breath away for a moment. Right there in that spot my life as I knew it ended when you lost control. How could people drive by it so easily? Without a thought or idea that such a bright light dimmed there? I got irrationally angry; you know how I can be. You always teased me for getting so worked up. I decided then and there that I would never drive by again. Fuck that. Fuck the median and fuck the world and fuck that stupid building right across with the star that lights up at Christmas time. I would forever navigate around it. And for a bit of time that worked. I would take backroads until I passed THE SPOT and then would get on the highway. I felt triumphant. I had the control now. It was silly, but I'm a silly girl. That was one of your favorite parts of me.

When I made the decision that I was ready to go back to work, I realized that I would have to overcome my fear of it. Driving to Cambridge every day just doesn't afford the luxury of backroads. I thought about what you would say if you were here. You were always the one who gave me my brave - I was always my strongest when with you. And I thought about how you would put your arm around me and laugh at my hesitation - never to tease but to steady my nerves. "What are you so scared of?" you would say. "You got this. I'm not there, I'm right here."

And so two days before I went back to work, I got into our car and buckled up and looked at myself in the rearview mirror. "You got this," I told myself. I checked to make sure your good luck charm, your Red Sox bobble head (the one I tried to throw away every day) was still dangling with the air fresheners. And then I drove. I drove past it. The first time I had to get off at the next exit and I just cried for what seemed like years but must've only been minutes. And then I drove by again.

I drove back and forth past the spot for an hour, talking to you and blowing kisses and touching the bobble head when I didn't think I could do it. I drove by it until my tears were dried on my face and I was able to laugh at the impossibility of the situation. And I felt you next to me. Riding next to me, hand in mine, just like it used to be. And I knew I was ready. So I drove home and hugged Vera and called it a win.

The first few times driving by, I would hold my breath as I was approaching. I knew I could do it but I just kept expecting something horrible to happen. Nothing ever did. I just touched my lips to send you a kiss to Heaven. Today I was driving to work alone and was listening to music and singing my heart out when I realized that I had driven by the spot without noticing. I immediately started to cry as if I had done something wrong but then I heard you in my head again. That amazing laughter that always stopped my pain. You would be proud of me, I decided. You would say, "Silly girl, you could've done that all along." And then I drove the rest of the way with a smile on my face.

Love,

Amanda

Dear Babe 9/9/14

Dear Babe,

Sometimes I miss you so much that I can’t breathe. I wait in anticipation during the day the way I used to, only to remember that you won’t be home to greet me. Instead of a call up the stairs for my first hug of the evening, I walk into an empty foyer – except for the mail that is still callously sent for you. How could anyone not know you’re no longer here? Vera greets me with wide eyes – she still knows that something is wrong and yet she can’t help but put her paws on me with joy. She and the boys are the only living reminders I have of you.

There are days I find myself waiting, always. Looking forward to something I can’t name. Imagining that the day will come when you’ll be back. When I’ll hear the familiar sound of your car pulling up and you sitting in it for just a moment longer to finish listening to your song. If I close my eyes right now I can hear it. If I close my eyes right now I can see your car pulling up in front of the house. If I close my eyes right now I can feel your smile on me when you walk in the door. I can hear your voice greet the animals. I can smell your shirt. I can still reach out to you and touch you sleeping next to me. Those are the days that I love because I can still imagine you haven’t left.

Then there are the other days. Days when I can’t remember what it ever felt like to have you holding my heart. Days that it seems I’ve never been anything but alone. I stand in your closet and touch every shirt one by one, tracing every outline and every seam, just to prove that you were here. Those are the days I can see you staring back at me from the pictures but cannot pinpoint the shade of your eyes. Days where I am so afraid of forgetting the sound of your voice that I lock myself in the bathroom and listen to the voicemails I have saved on my old phone. Even the angry ones. Even the ones telling me not to spend money. Even the ones that make me cry, the ones that say “I’ll be home soon.” But you won’t. I’m perpetually afraid of losing those voicemails and keep the old phone safely stowed away like it was made of diamonds.

I wonder what you would think of me if you were here. Am I doing this right? Am I honoring you well? Would you even know me now? It’s only been seven weeks but I can’t quite recall who I was before this. I’m not sure if the things I say or the things I do now are similar to choices I would make if you were here. I’m certainly less uptight but much more jaded.I don’t laugh as easily but when I do, it’s fuller and richer. I don’t believe in fairytales anymore (do you remember we were like The Princess Bride?) but I do believe more in the kindness of the human spirit. It’s hard for me to listen to the songs we loved but –oh my dear- I’d give the world to be dancing with you again in the kitchen.

I would take years off my life to wake up with you one more time. If I had had known on that morning that it was the last time I would see your face. I would’ve traced each curve and freckle and dimple and etched them into my brain. I would’ve spent extra time cuddling instead of the usual five minutes before hurrying to work. I would’ve nestled my head in the nook of your arm like I always loved to do and I would inhale your familiar scent that I am racking my brain to conjure right now. I would’ve told you how perfect you were and how there was no need to ever be insecure. I would’ve said “Thank you for loving me so completely” instead of just “I love you.”

If I had known that it was the last morning, I would’ve packed you a lunch and written a note and drawn flowers all over it – and I wouldn’t care if the guys at work made fun of you. I would’ve called you during lunch just because. When you called to say you were going out after work, I would’ve begged you to come straight home to me. I would’ve begged you to stay with me. I would’ve said “Please don’t leave me, I can’t do this without you.”

But instead here I am, and there you are. And missing you isn’t even an appropriate phrase for the constant work I am doing just to tread water. I fear both never getting over this and getting over this. But I wouldn’t change a thing. Not a moment or harsh word or loving embrace or hope that didn’t come true. Because you were my hope. And you did come true. And I will do this for you. And I will love you forever. 

Amanda