My Love

2 months

I never thought I could live this long without you here with me. Who knew that I would have pulled myself together, started working the farm, building things, managing things and getting the work done?

I never could have imagined life without you. You’ve been my world for thirty years, and here I am, 53 years old, widowed, and learning again how to be a mechanic, farmer, designer, planner, and manager of all the things you used to wrangle.

I look at your picture every night and wonder when you’ll come home. I still shake my head in disbelief that you’re gone. It’s still so very hard to comprehend that reality. Devon and I both walk around pretending you’ll be home soon, so we need to hurry and get things done.

I feel like such a failure for not getting things done faster. It’s amazing how long each task takes, and how much money must be spent to accomplish them. I’m trying to make good decisions, spending the money wisely, and planning our day so that I can also cook meals, clean house, and somehow do my “day” job. It’s not working very well. It’s hard to manage it all. It’s hard to give the attention to the dogs that they want. It’s hard to keep the house clean when my first rush is to get outside.

Life just isn’t the same without you to share it with. It has no joy. No purpose really. I’m just waiting to go home to you, but working to make sure I leave a good home here for Devon and whatever family he may put together some day.

I’m still doing irrational things. I can’t turn your phone off of the service. I’m afraid if I do, you’ll somehow need it. I can’t clean off your desk and move over to it because it feels so disrespectful. I won’t sit in your chair because it’s yours. I refuse to drink out of your coffee cup, because it was your favorite. My mind clearly just hasn’t accepted that you’re truly not going to come home.

I’m okay with that for now. I know eventually, I’ll tuck your things away and slowly move into the space you once resided. I’m afraid of that day. I don’t want to move you out of here. I don’t want to live in a world that you won’t be in. But I must. It’s a dark, dreary place.

You cannot imagine how much I miss you. I miss your morning greeting, how you always checked up on me, how you did my heavy lifting, both physically and just keeping me straight.

There’s so many things that happen in a day that I want to tell you. The dumb stuff no one else cares about, but we enjoyed chatting about. The blackberry bushes actually have some berries on them. The blueberries are almost ready to pick. The chickens look almost grown, and can you imagine that we got two roosters out of that batch. The bees are doing good, but I think the nuc isn’t as healthy as the full hive. The goats are looking peaked, and I need to let them out of that pen. I finally started organizing that shipping container, and boy is it a mess. The hummingbirds are here, and I’m going to need to buy some more feeders. Devon got stung by a wasp. The fittings for the grapple are leaking hydraulic fluid. I can ride up to the roof in the bucket of the tractor without fear.

No one cares about these things, but I post them on Facebook. The people are nice and they comment, but these are the dumb things we used to talk about and there’s no one here to just chat with in the mornings as we drink coffee and solve the world’s problems.

Life just sucks without you, babe. I miss you. I wish you’d come home.

My Love

Seven weeks

I cannot, or could not, imagine living without you for seven weeks. Before you died, either of us being away from home more than a few days was a burden to the one still home. So much to do, dogs to wrangle, the little things of taking care of a home seeming to be overwhelming.

I couldn’t imagine.

Seven weeks without my husband. The love of my life. The old coot. The jokester. The cantankerous old fart that pretended to hate things, just so people would leave him alone. A man who loved to laugh and a good practical joke. The man who never knew what quiet meant. The big footed Fred Flintstone beast who inhabited my world.

God, I miss you.

Seven whole weeks. Punishment for me. A lifetime to go. The ache and loneliness can be overwhelming, even with people here.

They’re so kind. They’re so helpful. They keep me occupied. But they’re not my person. My man. My soulmate. The person in my life that knew my history, our history. The one who shared my adulthood. Who knew, and understood my fears, habits, behaviors, and oddities. The one who loved me in spite of them.

God, I miss you.

Today marks the one year anniversary that the final load of goats and dogs marked the very last thing to be moved from the old place. We have been here in East Texas all together now for one year.

Except, one is missing.

The main one.

The one who made it all happen.

The guy who single handedly got this farm moved. Drove the miles. Fought the truck. Lifted the loads. What a task you accomplished. And you’re not here to celebrate with me. Without you I have no reason to celebrate.

God, I miss you.

We talked so much before you died about what would happen to either of us if the other died. You said that you couldn’t do it without me, because I held it all together. As I sit here seven weeks in, I think you had it all backwards. You did the heavy lifting. You kept me prompted, organized, focused. You pointed me in the direction I needed to go, and I got stuff done, but look at this place! This shit that needs to be done.

So much work to do.

Not enough hours in the day.

No one to talk about it with when the night comes.

My strength was in you. My joy was in you. My comfort was in you.

God, I miss you.

Why can’t I force time back to that godawful Sunday? Start the day over? Keep you near me and with me for another decade?

God, I miss you.

Come home to me. The Lord knows that I need you, want you, and beg for you to come home. Why can’t it be so?