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