dear babe...

is how i start my letter to tim every night before i go to bed. writing a letter to him has been something ive done since a week after he was buried. it has given me a routine. a set time and place where i know i will be able to talk to him without any interruptions or judgments.

a friend of mine had driven me to a bookstore nearly 40 minutes outside of our small hometown. i was on the hunt for some self help books. something that would tell me how to survive the death of my husband. something to give me a written road map of what was to come next. i needed a "what to expect when youre expecting" book on being a widow. if you blink you might miss the death and dying section in your local big box book retailer. its located way down on the bottom shelf i had to sit on the floor to be able to read the titles. there were only a hand full of books mostly were religion based not all were about losing a spouse. i walked out of there with a $6.00 dollar blank paged journal to write my own story. my own map.

i tell tim about my day good or bad simple or complex. i tell him whats going on in our country. i filled him in on orlando dallas baton rouge and minnesota. i ask him for his thoughts and opinions and i tell him mine. i miss his passion for debating and our ability to go back and fourth listening and challenging each other. i feel like he is reading over my shoulder as i scribble across the pages. i ask him if he thinks im making the right choices in my life. did i spend too much money on this? should i be mad at this person? am i going to survive this new job? i like to keep him current on pop culture. i tell him about new movies or series that have come out. new menu items at his favorite fast food places. new songs from our favorite bands. i write about how angry and scared i am. i yell at him on those pages just as much as i tell him i love him. i yell at him for being gone. i yell at him for my nightmares. i yell at him for leaving me alone and just last week i yelled at him because my air conditioner broke! 

writing gives me a direct line of communication to him. it semi fills a void. the void of being able to grab my phone and send a quick text saying "you will not believe what just happened" or "hey what do you think about this?" the void of getting home from work and hearing him say "how was your day babe?" i miss talking to him and my letters give me an inch of that. when crazy shit is going on or something exciting happened or someone really fucking pissed me off... i think " i cant wait to write tim about this."