Hello my love,
It's been awhile since I've been able to put my words down for you. But every once in awhile, talking to thin air doesn't seem to suffice. Sometimes I feel you there - most of the time, actually. And your presence has become one of comfort, instead of a reminder that you're not here with me physically. But not always.
The other night, I was rocking Carter before bed. He hardly ever lets me snuggle with him anymore, since he's gotten so squirmy, so I enjoyed my time just reading to him, rocking him, singing to him, and talking about you. This is always the most painful part. I told him about how much I wish you were still here for him so that he could know you and what an incredible man you are. I told him about how proud you would be of him, and how beautiful you would think he is. I told him how much you would love our new home, and all the great things we picked out for him.....then something suddenly occurred to me:
I would have none of these things if you were still here.
I wouldn't have this beautiful house, we'd still be in our tiny home that was falling apart in a horrible neighborhood. I wouldn't have my new vehicle - we'd still be driving the Explorer until it died and then we'd have to buy whatever we could afford, which wouldn't be much. I wouldn't have all the beautiful things we bought for Carter's room - I highly doubt that I would have had a baby shower for my third child if you were still around. I wouldn't even have some of the relationships I now have and cherish. This thought stung me.
I guess I've realized this before, but it never hurt me the way it did the other night. I wouldn't be who I am now if you were still here. I would still be a naive girl taking advantage of her charmed life. I guess that's part of the redemption of experiencing death so intimately: you are forever changed. It opens up realms of truth you didn't know existed and you watch the world from afar so differently. I would give anything to see you again, but knowing what I know now, I don't think I could go back.
I don't think I could ever see myself in a place where your death seems justified. I don't think that's even possible. I think you should still be here. But the hardest lesson I've had to learn is to take things from where I am now and figure out how to put one foot in front of the other. I can sit around wishing for your return all I want, but I know it will get me nowhere. I just have to take you with me.
I still have no clue who I am or who I want to be. But I am way closer than I was 14 months ago. You can't survive something so tragic without learning things about yourself. I know I've come a long way, and I know I still have a long way to go. It is still my goal every single day to make you proud.
I miss you, babe. I wish you could be here to celebrate Carter's first birthday in a couple weeks...I can't believe we're all still here, that we've made it this far.
I love you always and forever.