Two Years: A Message for My Husband

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Two years.  The sun has circled the globe twice.  Summer has moved to fall.  Fall has given way to winter.  Winter to spring.  And then summer has come again.  Twice.  We’ve seen the birthdays pass.  His, mine, and Gavin’s.  Times two.  Two Christmases.  Two anniversaries.  Two of every day in between.  And it always comes back to this.  Today.  August 11.  The day Kurt died....

I want to say life has changed for the better.  That the moments apart get easier as the time between us and now gets longer.  And I suppose even though I don’t want to accept it,  in may ways it has.  But there’s always a day like today lurking around the corner, when the reality of the situation hits like a tonne of bricks.  When I can’t even pretend I’m okay with my life.  When I want to pretend that nothing has happened, that he will be home tonight.  When all I can do is cry.  

When all the things we have is overshadowed by the one we don’t.

Him.

I thought I’d be “better” by now.  I had expected many things.  That his name wouldn’t cause tears to well.  That I wouldn’t unconsciously reach over in bed to stroke his hair and find only a handful of pillow.  That I wouldn’t place my hand on the empty seat beside me when driving – where his lap should have been.  That I wouldn’t look at a city bus wondering if he ever drove it.  That I would have accepted the nightmare that has become my reality.  That the nightmare wouldn’t scare me quite as much...  Some things seem to have changed.  In public I cry less.  On the outside I smile more.  But I love him and miss him just the same.  And it still hurts a million hurts. 

It seems like there is nothing to say that hasn’t been said.  There is nothing to do that hasn’t been done.  An ordinary day for everyone else will always be an extraordinary one for me.  For all the wrong reasons.

So I’m going to use this space to do something I do every day.  Except today I’ll do it in public.  To talk directly to my husband:

Kurt....

The world around me collapsed the day you died.  My universe realigned.  My sun fell off its axis.  I’m still trying to find my way in this world.  Through this thing called life after you.  Without you.  My world will always be darker with you not in it.  Joys will always be bitter sweet.

Things will never feel the same...

I still see that day so clearly.  While the days immediately after have blended into a haze, those awful moments stand out crystal clear.  Like it or not, I close my eyes and see them.  The last sounds I hear before drifting into a restless sleep are still my screams.  The first images I see as I open my eyes are there, in that bathroom, on that fateful morning 731 mornings ago.  I haven’t been able to deodorize the carpets since.  The thought of peach puree still makes my stomach turn.  I hate sitting at the kitchen table with Gavin.  I still shower with earplugs.  I have yet to take a real bath.  The sound of water is still an omen of death.

I’ve learned so much about myself since then, Kurt.  How strong I can be.  How weak I can be.  How I can be both strong and weak at the same time.  How powerful the mind can be.  What profound sadness really feels like.  How precious life can be.  The importance of every word, every action... as they may be your last.   I’ve learned what matters – why I want to live.  And I've learned what else matters – why I want to die.

I've grown.  I've done things I never thought I would be able to do.  Things I never thought I would have to do.  Things I never wanted to do.  

I’ve learned a lot about you too.  Mostly what you did for me.  How happy you really made me feel.  How I needed you in ways I never imagined.  And how I really felt for you.

I love you more than I ever told you.  More than I ever realized.  And for every ounce of love I have for you, I miss you just as much.  Maybe more.

I’m sorry, Kurt.  For the ways I failed you when you were alive.  For the ways I failed you the day you died.  And the ways I’ve failed you since.  For taking you for granted.  For disappointing you in  my inability to be strong since.  And above all, for not being able to save your life...  I'm trying hard to make peace - with myself.  With the past.  With the future.  With our son.  With you.  But peace still seems a long way off...  I’ll carry your blood on my hands for as long as I live.  I would have moved mountains if I could have.  I would have done things so differently - not only that day, but in the days leading up to it.  There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I had been stronger.  Strong enough.  Done more.  Done enough.  

I carry things that no one else knows tucked so deeply inside me.  Things you don't even know.  Things I will probably carry with me to the grave.  About that morning.  The days before and after.  They eat me up.  But they also keep me real...

Our son is okay.  I promised you that, and its the one promise I’ve been able to keep.  The one I’ve thrown all my energy in to.  Taking care of Gavin really has taken care of me.  I worry about him for the both of us.  Worry about how his mommy’s sadness is rubbing off on him.  Worry that I’m not doing enough.  Well enough.  Worry I'm making mistakes.  Worry that you wouldn't approve or agree...

Gavin knows you.  He loves you.  Some moments, when I look at him looking at your picture, I wonder if deep down in that little mind somewhere he remembers....  He’s so like you.  In so many ways.  I like that... I always have a piece of you when I have him.  But I hate that.  I don’t want to live with someone like you.  I want to be living with you...  Gavin needs you in his life.  He’ll always need you.  As much as I try to give him everything, there are some things a mommy just cannot be, cannot give.  That anyone but you can provide.  Like the love, knowledge, and influence of a daddy.

I often catch myself wondering how different our lives would be had this day two years ago never happened.  Where we would be.  What we would be doing.  Whether things would really have been as wonderful as I picture them to be....  There’s not a moment that somewhere deep down I am not thinking about you.

I miss you Kurtis in a way I didn’t know existed.  A way that has no words to describe.  I way I never thought was possible to feel.  And I would give my life to have just one more moment by your side.  So many things left unsaid.  So many things left undone.  The silent moments we have shared in my head just aren’t enough babe.  They’ll have to suffice... but they will never be enough.

I can’t wait until we are side by side again.  I live my life waiting for the day I will die.  For the day we can be together again.  I know there’s a lot of joy waiting ahead, as our son grows.  But the joy in this life is tempered.  Tainted.  I honestly believe I will never be truly happy until the day I am called back home, to you.  We belong together.

Two years since I felt your touch.  Heard your voice.  Saw your face.  Two years without you.  A blip in the sands of time.  An eternity in my longing heart.

I don't regret a day we spent together.  I only regret that there were not more of them.... 

Olive Oil, babe.  Elephant Shoes, my love.  I love you, my Kurtie.  Forever.

I’ll always be Always Yours...