Hey Julie,
Though you aren’t physically here with me, your memory is almost as real as anything else at times. I’m still in the house we were building into a home. There were so many derails in the course of our time together, but there were many more successful adventures. One of them is sitting next to me eating his regular breakfast. The other is a 45-minute drive on I-65 to Midway University.
We woke up this morning, and both of us got moving. Our adventure hasn’t stopped yet. In fact, each day is a new installment. Days with built-in structure are the easiest, and the hardest at times. I feel like I should be doing more for what remains than I am doing. I just don’t have the energy to do things for myself. Not lately. As I type this sitting in our spot out back, I am surrounded by the budding of a new spring. Another spring without your presence. The plumage is returning, decorating the landscapes that are waiting for me to go adventure out into them.
Yet, with my mornings, I’d rather eat and sleep. Don’t get me started on the lack of motivation to want to stay vertical once I’m awake. It’s unlike a depression I have ever experienced. If you’re still within line of sight of this life, now you see the hidden things I didn’t even remember myself. If you are a saint who sits in the clouds and prays for us who are still navigating life in this dangerous world, do help me.
I remember the beauty in being young and hopeful that I would tap into that one thing that would wow a nation. I spend most of my time listening to, and falling in and out of sleep on videos of men wow’ing a nation every night. Professional sports has also given me a beautiful break from the harsh reality of having to rebuild a devastated life.
I feel so vacant. I feel so hollow. I feel the time I can never get back ticking away. I want to feel you again, though, Julie. And then I feel trapped. Like I’m not really getting any bigger than the loss you have been. At times, I feel like I’m ignoring the facts of what your absence means. In this void and quiet chaos, I fail to find the beauty of life. Especially a life without you. The surreality that I now take on the roles of everything for our sons.
And I wonder, who decides when the weight to bear has become too much? This is a whole new kind of “Not Easy.”
Eventually, I’ll find something to be passionate for myself. Eventually. Eventually the beauty will break through, and inspire.
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