Dear John

 Hey Babe,

For the record, I still freaking hate this. I hate that you’re dead. I hate that some stupid ridiculously selfish choice ended your whole life…and changed mine forever. 

I didn’t want this. I promised to love you forever, to choose you forever, to honor you forever…and forever freaking ended way too soon. And I still hate it.

I wanted forever with you, John, I still want that forever with you. 

I understand all the crazy things that widows do now. I understand why they get rid of all the things. I understand why they sell their house and move. I understand why they cut people off. I understand why they hide. I understand why they run away. 

Because I’ve wanted to do all of those things, Babe, I have. I’ve wanted to take all the “easy” way outs. I’ve wanted to just hate the world you left me all alone in. I’ve wanted to force my heart to stop feeling all of the things…even the good things. Because having you missing from me was the deepest cut to my soul I’ve ever experienced. Even having our son die did not brutalize me as much as your death did. 

I still long for you. Not in a way that could possibly make sense to anyone who hasn’t lost a spouse, I think. Because it’s a longing that is rooting in the reality that you no longer exist here. You’re dead. I know you’re dead. I feel your death every day. But I have 13 years of life and love and memories imprinted on me and my entire being cannot run away from that. 

I want to though…I want to run away from you...from the memory of you. And I’m so freaking sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. But sometimes it just hurts more than I think I can possibly handle…and I want to run away. 

It’s not brave…and it’s probably not that healthy…it just is what it is. You’re still missing from me. And I still hate this so very much.

I do all the things. I check all the boxes. I choose to love and honor God and I choose to face the hard things. But none of those things make missing you easier. At least, not in the darkness of the night when I’m weeping into the empty space beside me in bed. In those moments I’m alone and I’m just a sadly broken widow who hates that you’re dead. 

And in those moments, I cannot see a future without you. I cannot imagine being able to love another man. I cannot fathom how someone could ever love me. I cannot even dream of better things. 

In those deeply dark and broken moments I simply hate that you’re dead. 

But I know that they’re just moments….

I know that if I cry and breath and grieve the moment will eventually pass…

I know that the truth still exists in those moments…

I know that God is still good in those moments…still here in those moments…still faithful in those moments.

But John, I still have to go through those moments…and I freaking hate it.

I hate that I can’t do things the way you did. I hate that I still want someone to take care of me. I hate that I haven’t felt safe since you died. I hate that I want to love someone else one day. I hate that I second guess myself about everything. I hate that you loved me so well because I feel so broken without it. I hate that you never got to meet our daughter…because I feel like she needed you, and you would have loved her so very well.

I hate that these are just some pathetic ramblings of a widow in the middle of the night. And I hate that you’ll never read these words and never love me again. It seems really rude that you get to live in the perfection and glory of heaven and I’m left here in the broken world that killed you.

You deserved to live the life that you loved so much. I wish I could have traded my life for yours. But I know how selfish even that is, because I would have robbed you of Heaven and given you this horrific grief. 

I’m sitting here in the darkest part of the night and I want to believe in all the goodness of life. It seems so hard tonight. I’m too scared to dream, John, just like I so often was in our life together. Tonight…tonight it’s even scary just to believe that this moment will end. 

I’m sorry for all the times I wasn’t the wife God called me to be. I’m sorry for all the opportunities I missed when I could have been the hands and feet of Jesus to you. I’m sorry if I said “no” too often and lost my temper sometimes. I’m sorry my body robbed you of the opportunity to be the amazing father I know you would have been to a living child. 

I just loved you so much, John.

And I know you loved me just as much.

But I still just freaking hate that you died. 

And I just want this moment to end…