Hey Julie,
I miss you so much. I love you. But this life without you has been like a year of disorientation. It’s not just in my waking hours, but even in my dreams. Some parts of my life are still moving like you were here, especially in my dreams. I’m chasing you, or the ghost of you, only to find that the ghost has moved on to a whole new existence filled with its own excitement. Meanwhile, the life we were building together is a shattered dream.
It’s been a year of this, where I try to figure out what you were doing in your life, only to find that you were building a life where you would be the leader for the foreseeable future. A future we all hoped would come to pass. One that we were building to benefit as many people as we could with our family’s decision to start a business.
Now, I’m navigating a present of censorship, semi-isolation, and rebuilding in many ways on my own. I know I’m not alone, but a lot of what has happened in the past year has made me have to reevaluate how I live without you. How I can carry on the legacy of what you stood for, and of what our goals were. You’re no longer here for us to work together to see how far we could go in building a resource that would benefit more than just us.
You’re no longer here to guide the direction of our joint life, and all the benefits and challenges that come with it. The challenges of co-parenting. The benefits of having our own sources of income not dependent on a standard 9-5 job. The anticipatory excitement of having a world open up to us in ways we never dreamed of when we were younger.
The “what ifs” surrounding integrating your death into our lives are strong indicators that I need to seek recovery. I’m grateful that I stumbled upon Grief Recovery, as it has the potential to keep the “what ifs” of dealing with death from spiraling further. Grief Recovery might be my path to “stop the bleeding” of hopeless grieving. Grieving without goals is tough, especially since moving on without you and your profound presence wasn’t part of the plan when we said “I do.”
Yes, I still remember that we agreed, “in sickness and in health…til death do us part.” But death has torn us apart. Now, I’m wondering what it means for all the things we were building. What do I do with the past that was creating a shared present leading to an incredible future…together? You’re irreplaceable in every way. We never prepared for this reality. The “til death do us part” part.
I wonder who has ever prepared for the death part of the vow? Who has entered a marriage relationship with the intention of living a life of togetherness without their partner? It’s a morbid thought, but you and I did it for seven years. We faced the worst news anyone could ever have, and we survived. We moved daily, we had our lives, and we were together. At times, we were inseparable. The two of us and our boys. Exploring.
Now, I explore a new reality without you. My dear Julie, my beloved wife, you are deeply missed. I just dropped our 2nd son off at school, and returned to our home where I walked in the backyard. I was hit with a memory.
The memory was a moment of hoping that when I walked in the backdoor, you would be asleep in the bed awaiting my return with coffee. For almost two years, that was our routine. I would run the morning errands, and return with a gift to help get your day started. I can’t decide on if I want this particular memory to include your habit of cigarette smoking, but to be honest is the way forward.
Just like that, I looked up in our actual backyard to see our outdoor dining furniture. The deck that we had built to host friends and family in the summer for swimming. The pool cover that hasn’t been removed in two years. The pool I don’t know if I will ever use again. The pool was a safe haven for us all. We could melt away, and draw closer together.
Maybe this is how you continue to live. I know it is, but I like laying down for catch-up sleep a little more most mornings.