I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and this will all be a nightmare. I would have traded places in an instant. Nothing makes sense. I have to drive by the grave and the hospital every day on the way to work. I see the funeral home every day out of my bathroom window. I want to burn my eyes out to get the image of the broken body out of my head. I can still smell the blood and urine and vomit. I can hear the cracking bones from the chest compressions, and the forced air through the throat. I still feel his cold hand when it was over. Every time I see a time and date, it’s immediately placed in a reference of before and after. The only person who would convince me to never give up hope is gone. I don’t know how to keep going.
For he crushes me with a tempest
and multiplies my wounds without cause;
he will not let me get my breath,
but fills me with bitterness.
I wasn’t ready, and I know you didn’t want to go in a hospital. If I would have known I would have tried to make arrangements otherwise. I’m glad the last words I said to you was that I love you, and that I’d see you tomorrow. I wasn’t ready. I thought about it every day for years and I wasn’t ready. Josh said nothing makes sense in the earthly realm, and it won’t do any good to try and make sense of it. We drank sambuca and laughed and cried and laughed and cried. Joe is doing ok, he’s eating better now. I miss your advice and reassurance. I miss your love.