Letters to Ryan: I Never Told You (T-shirts)

Hey Sweetie,

Your raw honesty inspired me to stop negotiating the "white lies" I'd learned to find acceptable toward past relationships and family. I know we talked about this being important: trust and honesty. You knew when I asked a question sometimes that I wasn't going to like the answer, but you told me anyways. I love you for that. You made me a better woman by that example.

I do have a confession, though...When I said I didn't know where some of your old t-shirts went, that was a lie.

The dryer didn't eat them.

You didn't get rid of them yourself at some point.
They didn't get torn up by the dogs.

In very calculated moves I pulled the worst of the worst - the ones with holes in the armpits, the ones that were too short after a decade+ going through the dryer that you were giving folks a glimpse of the happy trail when you stretched, the ones that had the faded Billabong and Hurley logos that reminded me of high school but reminded you of Cali - and I snuck them into my car in sets of 5 or so and dropped them off at the clothing recycling/donation bins.

It was over months at a time.
I don't know if you noticed.

When we met you said you knew you'd made it when you didn't have to order off the Dollar Menu any longer. You'd still not gotten used to spending money on yourself after years of working hard and running yourself down through overtime to pay bills.

I loved laying on your chest, feeling your heart beat. I loved snuggling up to you and burying my face in soft cotton resting on top of your great arms, shoulders, and chest. I loved the softness when I wrapped my arms around your waist and reached up to kiss you. Or just wrapped my arms around you to hold you.

I wanted to treat and spoil you, even if it was through simple new T-shirts, grabbing a pair of jeans that fit you well from Costco or (what I felt was) saving yourself from yourself and sneaking out the really old tennis shoes, the pants that didn't fit, and the holey t-shirts so they weren't even an option and subbing in something that made you feel great instead of something you'd kept just because.

I'm not sure if you would have found it amusing or would have been a little peeved. I don't think you noticed because you were struggling with much more than wardrobe choices. I love you and miss you.

All my Heart,
Stephanie

But to Be Alone

"How terrible it is to be called beautiful, smart, and strong but end up being alone every night."

I'm not sure that people understand the loneliness that accompanies widows of any age. When you lose that someone from your life that was there everyday, that you depended on for conversation and silliness, that you needed for physical contact and attention, their absence is so distinctly magnified.

It's not solely because sex is now gone.
You miss your partner, your companion.

You miss the person you showered with or heard showering in the morning.
You miss the routine of sharing coffee together or waking up to get ready for work.
You miss the person who was your alarm clock, the first face you saw in the morning.
You miss the person that helped you get the dogs fed and potty or walks.
You miss the person you text or called in the middle of the day, sometimes just because.
You miss the reason to stop and buy a bottle of wine just because it's just a beautiful day outside and you want to relax and share that moment with your Love.
You miss the person you made dinner for.
You miss your advisor when a big meeting is coming up.
You miss your couch snuggle buddy.

You miss your TV series partner.
You miss the experience of pillow talk.
You miss the one that held your hand, welcomed you home with a hug, put their hands on your hips when you were standing around waiting for dinner or in line.
You miss the person that always slept closer to the door, stood closest to the street, watched as you were out in public, told you you were beautiful, paid attention when you talked, formed plans with you.
You miss the perk of sleeping in on weekends.
You miss the person that made you feel safe.
You miss the person you know always loved you, would protect you and care for you.
You miss the person you longed to care for.






Physical contact decreases significantly for widowed...I cry when I get a hug sometimes just because there are massive stretches where I literally don't get physical contact with another human being. I remember someone reaching out to hold my hand as a gesture of comfort and it was surreal. I miss having an arm around me in public, a body to reach over to in the middle of the night, who I know would be first to the door. I remember a woman telling me I was "so pretty" and crying because I'd not heard that in months. You might hear "you look like you're good" or "you're looking good" but you don't hear the compliments often, or when you do, they're laced with pity.

My other half - the one that made me more lively, encouraged me out of my comfort zone, was the eye roll culprit in my social interactions - is missing and those pieces of him that I played off and behavioral pieces that tweaked, inside jokes that were shared as part of an "us" have just vaporized.

It's not that I have no go-to when a new movie was out. It's not that holidays aren't looked forward to because I won't see the appreciation on his face over a great gift. It's not that I don't go to restaurants any longer because it seems pointless to keep eating out alone. It's not that I now leave the Emergency Contact box empty. It's all the little things, all the tiny pieces where he filled my life with happiness that accumulate and make Ryan's absence so painfully obvious to me.

Letters to Ryan: September 27th

Hey Sweetheart,

We miss you. I miss your hugs. I miss your confidence. I miss your support. I miss your smile. I miss your touch and your compliments. Liberty and Buddy miss Daddy. (The cranky cat does not miss getting roughed up)

Liberty went to her first group class yesterday: Confidence Building. I think it's more for me than her. She did great, of course. You picked the smartest (and most stubborn) of the litter. She's walking better on the harness and we're working on anxiety.

On Friday I was coming home and saw a dog get hit by a van. Back legs broken and possibly a pelvic fracture plus multiple abrasions and contusions obviously. Even in pain he was still more loyal than a most people. I sat in the rain with him trying to calm him and keep him from running into traffic. A few others stopped and got out to help me. We got him to a vet and when I finally got home I was cold and wet and I just wanted you there to tell you about it and get a hug. You were my calm and reassuring right hand in any scenario.

I've worked in the yard more and it's looking great. I've incorporated more blues in the yard because it reminds me of you. The rose bush you planted for me is beautiful. Thank you so much for doing that, darling.

Chargers lost to the Vikings today. Rivers. Oh Rivers. You would have yelled so many times. But the O-line is really where the problems lie right now. I know you're gone, obviously, but it's hard to believe some days. I just don't understand.

I miss your eyes. You know our babies would have had the prettiest eyes. I love you, Sweetie. You are not forgotten.

Wordless Wednesday: Love Him Forever

You Don't Realize

You don't realize how lonely you are until it's the end of the day 

and you have a bunch of things to talk about, 

but no one to tell them to...

A Bad Night's Sleep

I miss your snoring Sweetheart. It reminded me you were there.

I'll be honest - I used to joke with a few coworkers about wanting to strangle you for it. A few female coworkers were talking about sleep and trying to fall asleep before their husbands came in and the log-sawing started. We laughed about it. Chick-bonding, I suppose.

I take everything I said back. I wouldn't strangle you. I'd choose to sleep poorly the rest of my life if I could - heck, right now, most nights I do anyways...

I wish you were snuggled up to me with your chin resting in the back of my neck snoring right into my ear because it would mean I could still kiss you good morning, could fight over who gets to be little spoon, and you would still be there when I came home.

All my love, S

Three-in-one

I sat in a group therapy today. I listened to people share losing their estranged brother, their parent, and their friends. I could only sit there numb.

In a single day I lost my best friend - who I shared frustrations and secrets with. My #1 confidant. The person that knew when I was girl-cramping and brought chocolate over.

In the same day I lost a parent - the person in life that's takes care of you when you're sick and tells you everything is going to be ok. That gives you advice and helps you through problems that you just don't know how to tackle.

It gets worse. I lost my fiance - the man who I laid next to and looked into his eyes and promised I'd take care of him. Who I told whether things were good or they were bad ---- I loved him regardless. The man whose bucket list item was to deliver our child, or maybe all 4 of them.

I lost Ryan on January 13. I lost multiple people at once all wrapped up in a solo package...the single most important person in my life. He was my best friend and my caretaker, my lover. He was the person I wanted when it was a good day or a bad day, when I heard a good joke, when I was sick or hurting. He was the person whose life I wanted to make easier, whose feet and back I wanted to rub and who I relied on and who depended also on me.

The anniversaries are hard but so is every day in between then. He was my Every Day - from morning wake up call to getting to be little spoon as we passed out and everything in between, I'm reminded nearly every second of the day that he isn't here. I still expect him to show up; I do honestly hope for it down deep. It's pointless, I know, because I lost my life almost 3 months ago. It's why I ask myself everyday why I'm even still here; it really doesn't feel like there is life after loss like this.

Wordless Wednesday: Little Things

Lights and Sirens

People pay attention to the lights and sirens of emergency vehicles for many different reasons:

For some, there is a natural curiosity of what might be going on;

For others, they feel the urgency to make way and respect the first responders;

I loved trying to catch a glimpse of the unit in the hope that I could see my Sweetheart.

If I knew there was potential for it to be his truck in the area, I'd move to the side and then try my hardest to see  the unit markings and try to see him up front. It didn't happen much, but sometimes it did. Sometimes I was already on my way to see him - I'd give a "I know you've got to go, baby" wave as we passed in opposite directions. When I'd tell him later that we crossed, he never noticed - he was in work mode anyways. But I knew. I got the chance to see him in his element.

I usually continued on to the station and waited in the hope that I could still catch him after a cancel or on a quick turn-around. Sometimes I'd get started on the dinner that I was planning to make; it all depended on the station. Some you had to show up with food hot and ready and hope that there was enough of a lull to chat while you finished it; others you had pretty good odds that you could stay a while and maybe even prep there.

If meals plans had to be canceled, I'd prep a plate for him or leave the leftovers somewhere he could grab quickly, scratching a quick "I love you. Be Safe." on a note or piece of computer paper.

I turn away now when that reminder is present. I don't want to look, I don't want to wonder. There is nobody that I could catch a glimpse of any longer that will make my heart pause and bring a smile to my face. The sirens are now an approaching flashback to what is just memories and the lights a bright burning reminder of love lost.

I wish they could be removed entirely.

To celebrate or not to celebrate

It would have been your 30th today.

I broke down yesterday in the car driving by myself. There are so many times during the day where for a split second I start to do something with you in mind. It might be reaching my hand for my phone because something just happened and I want to tell you about it. It might be the start of a sentence that includes you in some way and I catch myself not wanting to explain what I mean or the circumstance. It might be watching someone in front of me reach down and interlock their fingers. It might be a reference or a key word or an inside joke that flickers through my world on any given day. The worst is when I'm not expecting it and I catch a smell of you or a glimpse of a passing stranger. For just for a second the zone which employs logic is overwhelmingly flooded with an aura of hope.

Hope for just a second. And I miss you.

It's like being pricked with a needle every single time. Most of the time I just catch myself and I know, I mean know, that I can't keep going down that avenue of thoughts and imagination because it makes no sense. But when it happens it's this sad and lightly painful reminder that you are not available to me any longer. And most of the time it hits like a needle prick. And just like being picked on by a younger sibling or losing patience with any repeated aggravation, eventually that needle breaks the skin again and I have had enough. Then comes not just the light pain but the sobbing, visible, heart-destroying ache. Pain is never lost when you leave; it just splits into pieces and is distributed to those closest to you and always in varying intensity.

I've been fortunate that most of those episodes have not happened in the presence of another. Some of that is a constant mental guarding from walking down the path of reminiscing once that initial poke of the needle happens. If I block as much ruminating as I possibly can and leave those thoughts for periods of life's silence then I avoid the awkwardness of the public breakdown.

I think tonight I may not have the strength to guard. We should have been in Vegas, should have been around family and friends and those who love and appreciate you. I am lucky to still spend time with some of those people but I'd send them all packing on my own dime if it allowed it to just be you and me.

An empty wish - that will not be possible. I know...

17 Days

It's 1 AM so technically we're at 17 days now.

I can't believe how quickly time has passed. It's no less painful at 17 days than it was at Day 1 knowing that you're gone. At least Day 1 was disbelief - emotions were raw and un-judged. Day 17 with time for thoughts and reflections there comes an additional component of guilt. It's also enough time for people to start bothering you because they think enough time has passed that they can insert their opinions and concerns rather than giving you space.

Seventeen days is both too much and not nearly enough time. It's more time that I ever wanted to spend away from You and not enough time to expect myself to have formed many coherent thoughts.

I went to our house again today, Sweetie. It still smelled like you. That blend of scents that cannot be re-created: it's our laundry soap mixed with deodorant and cologne and hard work and "You". I pulled as many clothes as I could that had that wonderful blend. It's going to be an awful day when that no longer lingers. The "You" part of it... that I can't ever recapture.

I'd give anything in this world if I could.