The day I decided to write you letters

19 August 2022

Hello Tennessee,

It’s me.  Today is the forty-seventh day since you left this earth.  I miss you every day.  Some more than others.

I decided to write you letters.  They say when you lose someone, it’s good to put your thoughts on paper.  Writing you is part of my healing.  It is a way to help fill the void.  Since I cannot reach over and touch you, wake you and tell you my thoughts, I am using this medium to communicate my feelings.  Not as if you can read them. It helps me nonetheless.  It is not uncommon for grieving spouses to write letters to their departed partners.  Nobel prize winning physicist, Richard Feynman wrote famous love letters to his wife after she died of tuberculous at the age of 25.  Now I am no Nobel prize winner, nor a physicist, but I am a pretty good writer.  So here we go.

I imagine as if I am travelling on a business trip without you.   But this time you take the journey to a place where I cannot reach you.  Back in the day when I took long business trips without you, I wrote you letters in journals. This was before cell phones and text messages.  If I wanted to leave an emoticon, I had to draw a little heart or smiley face on the page.  Little bits about my day, my experiences, what I learned about different cultures and how much I missed you.  These little scribblings in an otherwise blank book helped ease the pain of being apart from you.  At the end of the business trip, I gave you the journal to read.  It was a way for you to experience what being away from you was like for me.  Where are those books?  I need to find them when I return to our desert home.

I had a dream about you last night.  You were still somewhat sick, but alive.  I could touch you and talk to you.  You gained weight and looked great.  We were at our desert oasis home and I wanted to return to the mountains, the place I love so much.  In this dream, you told me to go without you.  I just couldn’t, but you insisted.  Like many of my dreams, there were people who wanted to hurt us.  I need to stop watching Game of Thrones before going to bed.  Finally, you agreed to come with me, but this is where the dream ended so we never left.  It was at that moment I decided to write my thoughts to you in letters. 

I donated your clothes.  I hope you aren't upset with me.  But looking into a closet filled with your clothes was too painful.  The closet had your aroma.  It was too easy to step in there and be awash with memories.  It was too painful.  So, I decided if I were to move forward, I needed to let somebody else use your things.  After all, you don’t need them anymore.  I gave away key pieces of your jewelry to select family members.  These were pieces you wanted to sell anyway.  This way a little bit of you lives with them.  I have not found a home for your wigs yet.  I want them to ho to somebody that appreciates them as much as you did.

I gave the mountain retreat dining table to a family on the reservation.  They are a Christian family who has regular dinners and needed a table big enough to accommodate their large family.   I moved the recliner out of the office and into the living room where it can be used.  One of them has a massage pad setup on it.  In your final days, I was lifting you so much that I injured my back.   Using the massage pad helps.  Lastly, I know you always liked the roll of paper towels seconded into a cupboard somewhere.  But, this always irritated me.  I never saw the point of hiding things you use all the time.  It’s out in the open under the cupboard.  It looks pretty good there.

I have decided to move up to our mountain retreat permanently.  Of course, you know that because in your final years you asked me what my plans would be if you should pass.  My answer was always hypothetical because I did not want to accept the reality of living without you.  But you were planting the seeds for my new reality.  You wanted to ease me into my pain and get me used to the idea of a future without you.  I know you were tired and frequently told me you did not know how much longer “you could do this.”  In our daily prayers, you asked God for guidance and if it was His will, He should take you home.  I now realize that although you were asking God to help you in your suffering, these little requests were also for me.  You prepared me for your passing.  Telling me you wanted me to meet someone new - that I deserved a life without you.  My answer was and is still the same.  I will live the rest of my life alone.   You left me with your memory and the company of two great dogs, Lexi and Stella.  Since I cannot have you, I prefer to keep it this way.

Love,

Greg