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I’m so sorry, John…



John,


I know you’re probably busy living your very best life in Heaven. I can’t imagine that earthly happenings matter much to those who’ve left us. 

But I want it to matter anyway. I want to imagine that you can still care. 


I’m sorry that I stopped reaching for you in the middle of the night.

It was a slow and painful process of retraining my brain and body. After 13 years you just weren’t there anymore. And I had to remind myself over and over and over again. “He’s dead, Katharine. Dead. You’ll never find him when you reach for him anymore…one day you’ll have to just stop reaching”. And one day I did. I can’t remember when it was. When muscle memory and instinct faded away. But suddenly I didn’t have to remind myself anymore…my body finally accepted that you’d never be there anymore. 


I’m sorry I got rid of your things. Your books and projects and broken treasures. You had such plans and dreams for all these things in your garage. And I threw them away. I sobbed and yelled at you for leaving me this big disaster that I didn’t know how to deal with…then I dealt with it. It took me two and half years to tackle your garage, but I did it. I’m sorry that it’s not your garage anymore…I guess it’s mine…just like everything else. You left and it all became mine…then I chose to really make it mine. Leaving marks on the things I chose to keep. Katharine’s toolbox, Katharine’s equipment, Katharine’s garage. 


I’m sorry that, because of me, you never got to be a real father. I’m sorry I couldn’t save our son and that I couldn’t give you another child. I’m sorry I dragged you through years of fertility treatments and broken dreams. I’m sorry that I didn’t fix myself to the point where life could exist within me again. It will always be the deepest regret of my life that I robbed you of fatherhood. 

I became a mom again, John. I did it. It’s devastatingly hard and so much more broken than I wanted it to be. But it’s here, and it’s real. I chose her. Just like I chose you, 17 years ago. And if there’s anything we know, it’s that I choose well…and that I choose for forever. Even if it’s hard…especially if it’s hard. 


I’m sorry that I chose to move on. To see if maybe I could possibly get a second chance at love. I’m sorry that 13 years of marriage to you gave me such a deep love for marriage that I wanted it again. I’m sorry that I hope to find someone who makes me feel safe…and captivating…and alive again. I’m sorry that I made mistakes along the way. It’s nowhere as easy as it was when I found you. Life was so simple and so hopeful back then. It’s so much harsher now. So much more lonely. 


But most of all, John, I’m sorry that I’m not actually sorry for any of these things.


I’m not sorry that I survived in the only ways that I knew how…in the timeframe I could manage, amidst the brokenness and the carnage your death brought. 


I’m not sorry that I loved our life so much that it made letting it go so hard. 


I’m not sorry that I chose to dream again…even though it’s so brutally hard to do. 


I’m not sorry that I break down some days and sob on my kitchen floor because life hurts so much sometimes. 


I’m just sorry that you’re not here. Not a part of me anymore. 


But don’t worry, I chose to live the life you left behind. Chose to make it mine again. Just mine…


Because God still sings His song of redemption over me.


Even in an empty bed…


Even in a dusty garage….


Even in the dating world…


Even in adoption…


Even in a kitchen, in the middle of broken sobs…


He sings a new song.




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