Stairway to Heaven?


It’s 9pm and we would normally be back from Tuesday night dinner, sitting in bed watching our own separate YouTube videos. I would reach over and touch your arm every now and again. You would reach over and tickle me every now and again. It was a simple life, but it was beautiful. It meant everything to me. Now I am sitting here writing to you and wishing you could write back. I am sitting here counting the minutes until I can go to sleep and forget the misery even for a few hours.

I am so numb. I miss you and hurt, and cry and wish I could see your face again. I wish you would tickle me again. I wish we could live suspended in those moments forever. I don’t want to do this without you.

Its been a little over a week since you died. It seems like just yesterday, but each moment drags in torturous emptiness. I am supposed to move forward but every molecule of my being desperately wants to go back. I try to keep myself busy. I fixed my resume, applied for a job (for which I am so overqualified), called to cash out the measly remains of my 401K so I can at least pay off my car, one less bill to worry about. We went to see where your services will be held. It’s fine, nothing could live up to what you were. Your brother found the perfect urn, a WWI massive shell casing, I think you would approve. I made the slideshow for the services and the remembrance booklet. Now what?

I can’t bring myself to clean up the projects you were working on. Your little messes make it feel like home. Your son is the only one who gets it. We are both dreading cleaning out your car. He has taken to wearing your grandfather’s ring around his neck. He goes in to work and helps your dad. He’s trying, but he is suffering too. Your mom laid into him, just like she does to you. She is going to push it too far with him. He came home cussing about her, needing to vent before he went back to his mom’s place. Today he said “the only god he ever believed in died.” Yeah, that about sums it up. I’ll get him help, I promise you.

I can’t stop reliving all of the moments of your last days. Why can’t I relive the last time we made love? The last time we went out to eat? The last time we went shopping? Anything but those days in the hospital! I don’t hear you in my head anymore. I would happily be crazy to hear you for the rest of my days. I wonder if I can make myself crazy. I would rather be crazy than strong. I’m tired of being strong. I am tired of getting back up after falling down another set of stairs. I think they got it wrong. The stairway isn’t to heaven, it is the curse of life. Life just keeps throwing you down staircase after staircase. Why do we keep climbing them? Maybe I’ll just sit at the bottom for a little while. Wouldn’t that be nice? You and me just sitting, holding hands, dreaming about the stairs. Wouldn’t that be nice.

It’s 10pm, I guess I could go to sleep for a bit.

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Let’s Make A Deal?

I woke up and apparently decided I need to hurt a bit more. I broke out the computer and dug through the video clips from our med cruise. I savored every glimpse of you on camera. Why do we always tape the buildings and tourist traps in vacation videos? Who gives a shit about the building. How often am I going to go back to that stupid video and say “wow, that is some snazzy architecture”… never! How often would I replay your laugh, your inappropriate jokes, your sweet endearments… every damn day! I finally found mere seconds of you saying “Hey, baby girl” and I completely lost it. I am so scared to edit the video down to that small clip for fear I will lose the whole file by some stupid butterfingers mistake.

I spent the rest of the day half numb and half panicking. I am so scared of what comes next. I am shredded by what has already happened. This place in between is excruciating. I feel the pressure to move on already. How is that possible? They expect me to get my shit together and I think they resent me for falling apart. I held it together for you, now I need to fall apart for me. But they don’t really give a shit about me, only you did. God, I wish you were here.

You would be so proud of your son. He is so much like you. He is the only genuinely caring person in your family. He keeps checking on me. We spent four hours chatting last night and we barely cried. It was really nice. He is staying over tonight; I think he plans to take out the trash tomorrow morning for you. I am a little worried about when he finally falls apart. He holds it all in to take care of everyone else. He’s his fathers’ son. At least he has agreed to therapy, the kids and I are the only ones who are taking up the offer. You should have seen their faces when I mentioned it!

I will be honest, I need to get help but I also want the pain. I need to hurt right now. Chill your concern – I have no intention of doing anything bad. I had your family take your guns out the house and I don’t want to die, yet. But I need the pain. I need the ache of not eating, the stab of heartache, the pounding head from crying too much. There is no physical manifestation of your soul being ripped in half. So I need the pain because it is the only way to hold on to that half I lost. Let’s make a deal: you come back and I will let go of the pain? I’ll be waiting right here for your answer.

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I had such a lovely day sitting with my once-future-in-laws discussing the legalities, protocol and planning for my fiancés cremation, services and finances. Yes, that was extreme sarcasm. Unfortunately because I wasn’t his wife yet I have no legal rights to anything… apparently not even respect. They tried to be kind and I am grateful they are handling so much while I am falling apart. But to constantly remind me that all the decisions are now his 19 year old daughters choice – the pension, the property, the bank account… its her choice (with their guidance of course). Thank you for painting the picture clearly, I am the interloper. I get it.

The fact that we spent six years together means nothing. The fact that I gave up my home across country, my career, cashed in my pension and 401K, and invested my entire life savings into our relationship and potential new company (which they shut down)… yeah, that means nothing. Fine. I am the interloper. I get it.


If you have ever seen the movie The Ref with Dennis Leary – the hideous mother-in-law is who I am dealing with; but add a snotty English accent and I swear that is her in even the look. I understand she is mourning a son – one who she berated at every turn. Thank you so much for slapping me in the face with “try being a mother who lost him”… yeah, I would try that, BUT MY SOUL MATE IS FUCKING DEAD!!! So no chance of kids there.

I get they are upset, but don’t fucking dismiss me. NOT ME! Because when you spend no more than ten minutes in the hospital to find out he wont make it, then another ten minutes when he actually passes… you have no right to play martyr with me! I was the one who rushed him to the hospital and watched him start to lose motor functions in the passenger seat. I was the one who had to fill out all of the paperwork because his right arm no longer worked and he couldn’t speak. I was the one who helped him pee in a jug because he couldn’t walk. I was the one who held his hand while he almost choked on his own vomit. I was the one who kissed him and told him this was just a little bump in our road and we would get through this. I was the one who said “I love you” one last time before surgery. I was the one who had to see the terror in his eyes as he woke up and realized he was locked inside his body, calm his panic and lie to him that he wouldn’t have to be like this forever. I was the one who had to sign the DNR on his life. I was the one who sat by his side every day and left the hospital only to sleep. I was the one who spent that last day hugging a cooling body. When you could hardly get near him – I WAS THE ONE WHO WAS THERE. I am good enough to do the messy work your precious ass cant deal with, but did anyone every think that maybe I cant deal with it?!? I did it because I had to, because I love him, because it was my life dying in that hospital. How dare you shove in my face that I have no rights!! God I HATE that woman!!!

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The End Of The World As I Know It.

rome-colosseum-50Yesterday my world came to an end. When you died, I died. You were my everything, my rock, my light, my compass, my entire universe. I can’t stop crying. I don’t know how to breath without you. I don’t want to do this without you. I don’t want to LEARN to do this without you. I just want you back. I hurt so much. I am so scared. I am so angry. God, this hurts so much.

This time last week we were happy, everything was normal. Now you are gone and everything is wrong. Food makes me nauseous. Your side of the bed is cold. Your not tickling me annoyingly just to hear me laugh and then whine. When I reach over to touch you, your arm isn’t there. I miss your kiss, your smell, your teasing, your need to sit on the toilet for a half hour at a time. I want you back so badly. I can’t do this without you.

How do I keep living without half my soul? I keep trying to convince myself that we are just going back to when we were long distance. But thats such a joke. We texted every day, skyped every night, visited every few weeks. For nearly three years. And THAT was hell! After more than another three years of living together… you became everything. Now I have nothing. All of our plans and dreams are gone. You’re gone.


Why didn’t we just get married. Why did I have to insist on a special wedding. I look at the beautiful ring on my finger and I am so mad you never got to put a band next to it. I am angry for every moment we took for granted. I feel short changed. Everyone tells amazing stories about you and I wanted a lifetime to create our own. I have no memories in this city without you. You are everywhere I go. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

I just want you back. Please come back. I hurt so much.

I miss you. I love you. Always. Forever.

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