A Conversation With My Dead Husband

A lot has been going on around here lately. Maybe you already know? Maybe you are looking down on us and keeping track of how we are doing without you? Or maybe, wherever you are, you are doing other things. Or doing nothing at all. I want to believe that you are keeping an eye on us, but, truth be told, who really knows? Anyway, if you already know what we are up to then too bad, you're hearing it again. Because you know me. You know that you are the only person in the world that I can talk to and talk to and never run out of things to say, even when you wished I would. And you being dead is not going to change that.

You are missing your boys doing amazing things. Missing political conversations, applications for internships and trips to NYC with the business/marketing club your oldest joined. Missing what sounds as though it is going to be a full on production of Pink Floyd's The Wall and your youngest being invited to Disney with his girlfriend's family. Can you believe it? Another family willingly wants to take that kid on a plane. All I can think of is your sad text in the airport back when the boys were little and we would tag team them, each of us taking a kid for the airport and flight adventure. "My travel buddy sucks."

I feel like it is so unfair- you fought with me through the tough times, when we were in the IVF war, slogging around in the trenches together, blood tests and shots and hormones and utter chaos. When adoption issues reared their ugly head, and you only got to see a shimmer of what these boys will turn into. Of what they will do in the world one day. And the good stuff too, like when we planned for our future, trips, retirement, Lake Erie. When we packed up the boys' toys and baby blankets for, hopefully, our next generation one day. It is unfair that don't get to see all of that, the trying and blessings, through to the end.

And we miss you. Every day, every moment. It is heavy and weighty to carry around. I miss who I was with you. We were so woven together that we were truly a part of each other and figuring out who I am without you has proven to be a difficult task. I can tell you that I am now the type of person who no longer has time for drama. So many things that seemed like big issues in the world, in our town, our schools, our home... just no longer take up space in my brain. I no longer have as much tact as I used to, as though my filter is bent and broken. Picture that version of me when the school plan isn't followed, but on steroids. . All I can say is look out AT&T, if you thought I was bad before...

I can also tell you what I am not without you. I am not spontaneous. I am not laughing my way through the grocery store. I am not up at the crack of dawn because you needed time to be slow and prepare for your day and you wanted me by your side as you did that. And I know you might be thinking that that last one is a good thing, as I often wanted to stay in bed, but without you, all I want to do is stay in bed. It is as though you were my anchor and my helium balloon at the same time, holding me steady but also pulling me along.

Your youngest still has all of his hair, including the goatee. I will stand firm on that, even though I can still hear your disapproving voice. It's like our little act of rebellion. You left, so the hair stays.

Speaking of rebellion, or anger, I guess is the more appropriate word, if I let myself think about it too long I get a little angry over how easily you left us. On the one hand I am comforted by the fact that you were involved in the decision to turn off the machines. That you knew what was happening, right up until the end, and that you were clearly quite comfortable with the decision and ready for the next step. Not just ready, anxious. Wanting that next step to happen right then, as soon as the decision was made. I know you were ready, your mind, spirit and body were tired, worn out from the long fight. And I am comforted by that. But I'm also a little pissed that you seemed to be so ready that it felt as though you left us easily. I felt as though I had been plopped down in the middle of a bad Hallmark movie. I mean, who has "deciding to pull the plug on your husband" on their bingo card in real life? These two feelings can both be true and felt at the same time- comfort that you were not scared and anger that you seemed actually anxious to leave us.

But I can't dwell on that. Years ago, way back when we were dating, remember how you taught me the file cabinet system for helping me sleep at night? You hired Joe, my guard, who watched over my file cabinet of worries and anxiety so I didn't have too. That little file cabinet room has been in my brain for over 25 years now, and I need to put my anger at your seemingly leaving us so easily into one of those drawers. I'm not going to lie, I might need to allocate funds for Joe to go ahead and buy another imaginary cabinet. Mine is starting to overflow.

OK, sweet husband, I've talked your ear off long enough. I have so much more to tell you though. For example, the guy who played Miguel in This is Us is the same guy who played Esposito in Castle. I know! I figured that out the other day and looked over to where you always sat on the sofa, wanting to share my amazing realization. But your seat was empty. Damn you, your seat was empty.