The Journey

Our life together has been an incredible journey. A modern day fairy tale of sorts.

I have spent so many days the last six months feeling completely alone. Grieving the loss of you in ways I never dreamed imaginable. My emotions, thoughts and clarity all swinging widly from one moment to the next. I've had times when it felt like I had forgotten you already. Times when I couldn't hear your voice or feel your hand in mine. I fretted and worried that those days were going to become the norm. That one day I would wake up and you would just have disappeared from memory.

When today started with this on the floor.

Kate's purple Tylenol somehow spilled in the shape of a smiley face.

And then when we got in the car and this song was the first thing on the radio.

I knew you were with us. I felt closer to you all day today than I have in the last six months. You were somehow right at the edge of my conciousness all day. Almost like if I spun around fast enough I would be able to catch a glimpse of you.

An afternoon at "Daddy's lake", with a crispness in the air, the softest breeze off the lake and the biggest, brightest sky I've ever seen. We talked about you. We remembered you. We loved you.

I may walk down the path alone now but this is still our journey. This is still our story. Everywhere Kate and I are, you will always be.


You are loved. You are missed. You are honored.

Always,
B.

PS- If it's not too much to ask, can you please stay just a little closer everyday? I need you.

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5

It happened again today. The 15th came. That moment five months ago when you passed once again sat in front of me. I was with our girl.
How did I get here? How has it been this long? There is this huge part of me that finds it inconceivable.

The spot on the floor where your heavy bed sat for a year is gone. The indentations fading over time. I know where your bed sat, but the room no longer holds your weight. It's one more piece of you that isn't here anymore.

Kate wants to know if you got the balloons that other little girl lost. As soon as she saw that little girl let go of the baloons Kate knew they were going to you. I couldn't believe how sweet she was when she told that little girl her Daddy would take care of her balloons.

I know you were there with us at JacksonFest. I saw that beautiful peek in the clouds and the moon that rose over the trees... that was your smile for sure. Your brothers continue to honor you. They stay close to each other and to Kate and I. Offering support, love, stories of you, and a place to share the pain inside my heart.

I taught Kate the proper way to hold hands. She now reaches for my hand to cross the street and instantly gives it 3 long squeezes. 'I. love. you.' Just the way we did it. Her little hand, grasped in mine, giving me that piece of you... perfection.

I see so much of you in her.

I know I've said this before but it's stronger every day. Even our friends and family are seeing it too. For her first three years all we heard was how much she looked like me, it's time for her too look a little more like her daddy. I just wish she would find your calm, your peace. She absolutely has your compassion and your humor but she's still got my short fuse. You called it, spunk. Mom calls it payback and I call it frustration. She would have you in stitches.

Kate's been talking to me about heaven a lot lately. I know you've heard her when she's asked you to not be mad at her for not coming to heaven too. Don't worry, I assure her that you wouldn't ever be mad at her. I assure her (and myself) that she won't be able to see you again for a very long while but that you're always with us.
She knows you're her angel. Just as she was your angel here on earth.


I'm doing everything I can to find positive, just like you always did. Starting your foundation, raising awareness and money, spending time with our daughter and being enough of a mom for her that maybe the void you've left is lessened just a tiny bit.
I say your words all the time and I'm trying to live them.
"There is nothing you cannot do. Only thing you may choose not to do. Make your choice."


Always,
B.

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4

It hasn't escaped me that it's been four months since you left us. I've felt your absence all day. I lingered a little longer on your pillow this morning and I spent the evening with a few of your brothers, doing what you loved to do, listening to them play some music.
You wouldn't believe how big Kate is. She started swim class this week and I swear she's grown 3 inches in the past month. She hasn't forgotten you. But I can tell the void that you left is healing.
I've struggled more this month than in the past three. I don't know how to explain it. I feel so raw. There are times when I can't feel you around me. It scares me. I don't know how to be without you. I don't know how to be alone. I spent a few weeks living in the "what if's", the "I should have" and the "why didn't I"'s. It's so unhealthy and so against your every wish for me. I'm working on moving through that though. I'm trying really hard. You know me, I won't give up even when I should. So, you know I won't give up on this either.

I did feel you tonight. Sitting in the audience at the Raue Center. Watching the unlikely trio of Mark, Dan and Rob, sing "Molly Malone". I didn't hold my drink up (a Starbucks, go figure right?) in toast. I held up my phone. My phone with the picture that Josh took of your resting place on the lake. The perfect, calm blue waters, with the gorgeous setting sun marking the place where I said my final good bye to your physical being.
You were there with us. Singing with your boys. Laughing with Becky and Colleen and raising your glass.

"Alive, alive, oh" Baby.
"Alive, alive, oh".

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1409 days

Three years, ten months and nine days, 33,816 hours, 201 weeks. Doesn't matter how you look at it you didn't get to be her daddy here on earth long enough. You tried so hard to make every moment count. Always telling her how proud you are, how beautiful she is, how much you love her.
We knew there would be obstacles with your health. You always faced those challenges head on. Never giving up, never letting her see you quit. You showed her what true bravery, love and will power can do.
For only having 1409 days as a father you certainly packed in a life time of memories and lessons. Kate and I sat down tonight and watched the video of you and her watching her first Cubs game. You didn't even know I was taping it. That's the best part of the video. You were just you. Holding her, loving her, talking to her even though she was only a few weeks old.
She's going to know how much you loved her. She'll know it because you have already given it to her. You'll always be her best daddy. When she goes through that awful teenage phase of hating her mother, I'm so glad she'll have her daddy to love. You won't be here to tell her to be responsible, act nicely, do the right thing or follow her heart but she'll hear it anyways. I know with every piece of me, that you will always be a warmth in her heart and a sensible voice in her mind.
In 33,816 hours you accomplished more than most dads do in a lifetime. One of the few benefits from knowing you weren't going to be here long enough.
Thank you for making every moment count. Thank you for being a wonderful father to our baby girl. And thank you for always watching over her.

From her first breath...

to your last, you were simply the best father anyone could ask for.


You will forever be the best dad that ever lived.
We love you and miss you every day.

Always,
B and K

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Happy Birthday Baby!

I woke up at 330a. My first thoughts were "Happy Birthday Baby". I whispered them out loud like you were next to me. Maybe you heard them in heaven.
I tried in vein for an hour to get back to bed. I thought about work, Kate, life, our plans for the day. I thought about anything but you. Trying to forget that you're not here to celebrate what would have been your 36th birthday.
The sadness, anger, frustration, and loneliness found me though. I couldn't keep the tears away, no matter how hard I tried.

Kate and I have been talking about how today would have been your birthday. In true 4 year old fashion, she just wanted to know how we would get your presents to you and if I thought you needed a toothbrush in heaven because Papa liked his toothbrush she got him so much.
I think we'll be sending you a balloon. Don't worry I won't attach a toothbrush.

I can't believe you're not here. It makes me smile though, when I think about your first birthday celebration reunited with your family. I can only imagine the cake, presents and love your mom is drowning you in.
And then, if I'm being honest, I think 'what if I'm wrong'. What if heaven isn't as I imagine it to be. What if it isn't what I need it to be for you. So then I go back to being selfish and just wanting you here. Because here, I know what kind of day you would have. You would have a great day. You would be with your best girl and you would have a new toothbrush.

I promise not to be sad all day. I promise to not be angry. I will spend the day with our girl, reminding her of how much she's loved. She wants to go to the beach today. As we drove by it last night on our way home she said, "There's the lake I go to with Daddy. Can we go there tomorrow so Daddy's sunshine finds me?" I've always been better than you at telling her no, but even I can't say no to that.
I'm glad she feels you while on a lake. I feel you there too.

Happy 36th Birthday Scott. We love you and miss you.

Always,
B.

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Because my heart tells me to

Hi Baby.
I originally thought that I would write you a letter on the 15th of each month. Knowing that for the remainder of my time on earth that day will give me pause. It will bring thoughts of you and our life together. I will never escape the 15th again. And I'm not sure I want to.
Thinking of you brings me comfort. It offers me peace and it keeps you alive in our home. I know I've been crying more than you wanted. I can't help it. I promised you I would stay true to my feelings and live in the moment and that's exactly what I'm doing. I don't cry every night when Kate and I talk to you anymore so I guess that's an improvement.
I love how Kate shares so much with you during our "talks" every night. She's so quick to tell me if there is some piece of our day that was missed. In her little mind, you want to know that she made a bed for Minnie Mouse tonight. Now that I write that, I'm sure you would want to know. Hell, if you were here Minnie Mouse would have had a bed on your bedroom floor like so many other "friends" had.
I loved the other day when she said she didn't like cloudy days because they "covered up Daddy's smile". There is just so much of you in her little face.
I don't know if you heard me tonight but I found myself wondering if your pillows were comfortable in heaven. Doesn't that sound crazy? I climbed into bed, started getting situated, like I do, and when I looked next to me at the pillow that I took from your bed downstairs, I reached out to run my hand along it as I have so many other times and I could feel that perfect dent where your head rested.
You and your pillow problems. You were such a cranky pillow bitch. Every pillow had it's perfect place, perfect amount of fluff, and heaven forbid it didn't sit right. Remember your first leg aneurysm? Well, of course you remember it. Your leg was HUGE. What did they say it was some 60centimeters around your calf. That leg caused you so much pain. I could walk into the room and tell right away that the pillows weren't right. The nurses would come in and "fix" it and no sooner would they leave the room, you were staring at me with your big green eyes saying "Baby, my pillows. Will you fix it?".
Do you know how much I miss fixing your stupid pillows? I worry and wonder if there are pillows in heaven and if they are "right". Pretty stupid huh? I know everyone says that in heaven you don't have any of your "earthly" ailments but I can't help but think about your pillow needs and if there is someone there that can make the pillow right for you. What if you get a headache? Does someone know that you probably just need to rotate your pillow, bringing the cool side to the nape of your neck? If that's being done then what will I do when I get there? I want to fix your pillows. I want to hear you make that perfect sigh of contentment when I get the pillows perfect on the first try. I really want you to tell me "you're good baby."
Who knew that pillows would end up meaning so much? I don't sleep on your pillow. I haven't rested my head on your pillow at all since it made it's way back to my bed. I'm afraid I'll change the dent. I don't want to lose that perfect shape that cradled the back of your head so perfectly.
Kate has rested her head on your pillow. She doesn't know it's yours but she always tells me it's the comfiest on the bed.

Aside from my strange pillow obsession, we're doing pretty well. I feel like I'm ready to start watching some of our old home movies. There are moments where I can't get my brain to conjure up the sound of your voice. This worries me. I don't want there to ever be a time where Kate and I both can't "hear" you "talk" to us. Maybe that's what Baby Girl and I will do tomorrow.
Can you believe how big she's gotten already? She's such a little person now. I love what an independent, strong, compassionate little girl she's become but there is huge part of her growing that is bittersweet for me. Everyday older is another day she'll not have you here. It brings us closer to the moment when she will have lived longer without then she did with you. I dread that moment.

I'm sorry that I've been so filled with regret these past week. I wish I could get rid of this feeling that I needed to work harder, beg more, barter more, to have you here longer. I regret telling you it was ok to go be with your parents and sister. I mean, I know you wanted to be with them. I know you missed them so much. And I'm certainly glad they could be there waiting for you but, you always gave me everything I wanted. Maybe you could have stayed longer had I just begged more.
I know it's silly to think these things. I know we both believe that when it's your time, it's your time, but...

Thanks for watching over us at Disney. Even though we were never there together, I felt you everywhere. I said over and OVER again "Scott would love this." I'm sure I was annoying.

I think I've exhausted myself sufficiently. Missing you so much.

Always,
B

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Faith

We couldn't choose a song to be our first dance. I would suggest something you would roll your eyes. You would suggest something and I would repeat for the 900th time that I was not dancing to the Allmann Brothers or the Grateful Dead.
Driving in the car was a marathon session of flipping stations and rejecting song after song. One long trip after another, everywhere we went. We sent each other messages with song ideas. Never getting anywhere.

It was a Sunday morning. I turned on the radio and was making pancakes in our tiny little kitchen in the house on Hawthorne. You were just getting out of the shower. Remember that bathroom? So tiny you could hardly move.
This song came on the radio and I stopped. I had heard it before. I knew this was it. I met you in the living room. You smiled at me and said "want to try it?". There in that tiny house that was all ours, we danced.
Your hair still barely damp. The smell of Crest on your breath. Your comfy Sunday fishing sweatshirt under my cheek.
That was it. It was perfect.

I heard this song today. I've been avoiding it. But today it found me twice. I figured the second time around I had better just give in and listen, you weren't going to give up.
I remembered that Sunday morning.
I remembered dancing to it at our wedding. In that moment surrounded by so many of the people that mattered the most to us, I only remember you. It was the only moment that entire day that my head and my heart were quiet.
I remembered all the other moments when it would come on the radio in the years following. You would always hold my hand.

I remembered and I smiled. I didn't cry. I just felt the love. The same way I always have.
Because I have faith.

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The 15th - a letter to Scott

God, I miss you. I've been holding it together for the last 30 days. I've been feeling whatever emotion I have at the moment but, I've challenged myself to find the silver lining everyday. I was trying to follow your example.

Today I failed. I'm sorry I failed. I just couldn't quite get it together today. I can't believe it's been a month since you left Kate and I. All day long tears sat just below the surface, waiting for the slightest thing to send them pouring down my cheeks.
*and yes I am an ugly crier regardless of what you always said.*

I cried when I picked Kate up from school today and for the first time she asked if it was ok to talk to you. I wanted to give her some space, some privacy, to say what she wanted to without knowing I was listening. I know I shouldn't have turned down the radio and listened in. I couldn't help it. She misses you so much and I'm so glad she feels comforted "talking" to you.

I tried to get Kate to go with me to get cupcakes this afternoon. I didn't want to be home during the 3-4pm time. Our daughter had a different agenda. You know the Princess dress up book you guys played with the day before you passed? You played with it while Kara took those pictures. Kate took that book and went and sat on the floor of the office, where your bed used to be, and played. She didn't talk about you at all but I know you were with her at that moment.
I sat down and wrote all of your "brothers" messages, staying connected with them like you asked, the tears once again poured down. Thank you for sending Kate to my rescue. She offered me a "spot of tea" and held my hand, reminding me that "Daddy is always with us in here." as she pointed to her heart.

Tears at the McDonalds commercial as they advertised the fruit smoothie you drank that last morning. Tears at the rain because I couldn't remember what the weather was like the day you died. I know the day after you passed it was a glorious day. I know this because I remember thinking, it was heavens way of showing me how happy they were to have you.

Tears when I sat in front of our church, staring at the front door remembering what it was like to walk out them, holding your hand, dragging you down the stairs and feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

Kate wants to go inside the church. I told her maybe we would go on Sunday, always leaving religion open to her, just like we talked about. Thank you for allowing me to have your service at the funeral home and leaving our church as a warm spot in my heart. It will make it so much easier for me to step inside again.

Tears when I turned on the tv tonight and it was Dante's Peak. I got to hear my favorite line, you know it... "coffee, coffee, coffee." I always tripped you up with that one on our guess the random movie quote contests.

For the first time, I've felt regret. I preached so much about no regrets. Staying in the moment and living life. But now, I feel like I didn't do enough.
I know, I know, those feelings are irrational. But, I also know that you shared the same feelings about your family when they passed. It's just part of healing I guess.
In time, the huge holes of regret that I feel today will be filled. They'll be filled with the love you gave me every moment you were here, and the love you continue to give me from beyond.

You wouldn't believe all the love and support everyone has shown Kate and I. Well, you would believe it. You always believed the best in people. I'm the sceptic. Good thing all these wonderful people are doing your job of keeping me from losing faith in the human race. Everyday we get cards, messages, extra hugs and love. We get them because of all the lives you touched just by being you. I don't think I ever told you what a honor it was to be your wife. You chose to love me, despite or maybe because of, all my faults.

As always, I feel better just talking to you. Even now. You bring my weary soul peace. I miss you Baby. I promise I'll do better May 15th. I'll honor you, it's all I can do now.

Always,
Your wife

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Little Things

It's the little things that knock the wind right out of you. It's the bowl and spoon that was last used to cure your incessant need for ice chips. It's the bag of ice chips at the bottom of the freezer. The straw stuck in your last bottle of water. The shirt you wore when Kara took those pictures. The sheets and pillow that were on your bed.
And then there is your bed. The place you spent most of the last year. The place where we all snuggled, spending time together, telling jokes, sharing stories, playing play-doh. The place you last said I love you. The place where you took your last breath.
I had your bed taken out today. Tomorrow will be the rearranging of furniture to turn your room back into an office. I feel like you're leaving me all over again.
I know I have to do these things. I know I have to get this house back on the market and sold. It's what we talked about. It's what we both wanted.
I just have to remember that you are not there. You are in our daughters laugh. You are the way she will tell the same joke over and over again. You are in our hugs, our smiles, our hearts. I just really wish you were in our world too.

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Seven days

It's been seven days since you passed. I tried to keep myself busy with work this afternoon, to distract me from feeling the moment. It didn't work. I looked at my watch at exactly 250pm, the last time I remember seeing the clock as your struggled for your last breath.
I closed my eyes and I could once again hear your final words to me "I love my girls". You were so weak, gasping for breath but your words were as clear as they had every been.
I know most people go through moments in their marriage where they doubt how their spouse feels. Where a fight gets out of hand and words are spoken that hurt. I'm so lucky that in the nine years we were togeher I never had one of those moments. Never did a second pass that I doubted your love for me.

I know you continue to rescue me. Today when I pulled into the funeral home to pick up your death certificates and Kate started to cry because she didn't want to go in, your song came on the radio.

Kate stopped crying and we both quietly sat and listened to the song. We climbed out of the car, Kate wrapped her arms around my neck and we both said "I love you".
Her good mood continued as we spent the next two hours at the social security office. She never cried, yelled or got out of hand and I never lost my patience.

We continue to move forward slowly, but it's not without you. We'll never be without you.

Always,
B.

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