Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Dear Ken,

It’s Tuesday. I sit here wishing you would come through the door after a card game at the VFW.

I have many things to tell you. First and foremost, is that I am coping and I‘ve survived. That would surely make you happy because you always put me first, and wanted to see me secure and well. Even when you were struggling with your illness, you worry about me all the time. You knew how much I depended on you and how lost I'd be without you.

But I think you'd be proud of me as I am doing okay. This past month I did exactly what you told me to do. I sold the truck, the bike, the boat, the firearms, the shop. I have returned to work, and it felt good to be in touch with the outside world again.

Most important of all, I am still here at our home. I have no desire to move elsewhere. In fact, I have finished re-roofing the house and I am now getting on changing the sidings. I often find myself wondering what color would you have chosen, but then again I figure you will let me pick the color anyway. One of the worst regrets I have is that you couldn't have lived to see the new look.

I also felt guilty for inheriting everything you have worked for, your whole life. Even though I knew you arranged it so that I wouldn't have to struggle financially. Still, many times I felt bitter that you were cheated out of the years we planned to be carefree together. You wanted us to travel more, remember?

I miss you every day Ken, but I am getting better. I won't lie that this past weeks my feelings of misery was becoming less and less as you faded further into the past. I don't lay awake crying at night anymore, nor do I get up and roam the house, sobbing and cursing your untimely death. However, I do sometimes suddenly wake up early in the morning panicked and feeling something horrible has happened. Yet as I calmed myself, I would begin to realize that I'm okay, that nothing is wrong and I let my memories go from sorrow to joy, to our happy times together. But the one thing that will never go away is how I miss sharing every day's events with you. The small, insignificant, and the major ones too. I know mostly how you'd feel and respond, but still, I miss hearing you say it...and oh yes, I miss the comfort of your big bear hug, the overwhelming security of being wrapped in your strong arms.

Yet, as selfishly as I want you here with me, I would never have wanted you to have lived a moment in the kind of horrible pain and suffering that your illness would have caused you. I have accepted that your sudden death was a mercy granted you because you were a wonderful, caring, giving human being.
I'm not the only one who misses you. Both our families miss you and you live in their hearts as well. I have talked to so many people in the community who miss you too, and they always say they can't believe they won’t see you driving around town anymore. That is the legacy of a good man.

Yes, you are not perfect. You have made some bad choices in life, but who haven’t? I was not married to the person you were then, but the person that you have become.

I still love you Ken and I always will.

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