Author: Shelly Haffly

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.

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?

Oh my handsome hunka. Tomorrow marks the 6th week you’ve been gone from this earth, and every single time I look at your picture I just shake my head in disbelief.

How is it even possible that you truly are not here? While I know for a fact you died, my heart and my head tell me you will be coming home soon. That I will see you walk through this door again. That we, together, will live in our old age on the farm that we built.

How is it possible you are not here. I know a lot of these posts repeat that phrase. The question of how it’s possible, that I’m still in shock, that I live in a constant state of denial. But it’s true. It’s so very difficult to understand that you literally will never be coming back. I don’t get it. It’s difficult to comprehend.

It’s surreal.

I’ve had a difficult few days. You’ve been on my mind more than normal, and while I’ve kept everyone out of that emotional turmoil, it doesn’t mean it isn’t swirling around me like a black cloud.

Driving to town this evening in your truck, everything reminded me of you. Sitting at Whataburger. Driving to Tractor Supply. These are the streets you drove, and the truck you loved, and I just felt you near me the whole time. I missed you. I just kept thinking that these were your things, your time, your habits, your drive, your duties, and you won’t ever be here to do them again.

I don’t know how we let this happen. That we took your heart for such granted, that we weren’t more concerned and worried. I’ll never forgive myself for not going to you first before I hit the woods that day. I’ll never forgive myself for not being there with you to save you, to help you, or at least do everything I could to keep you here with me. I hope you forgive me. I hope you know how much I love you. God, I miss your face, your laugh, your voice.

This isn’t how our life was supposed to be.

I can take care of this farm, Devon and the critters. I know I have it in me. I’m not worried about those things. But I just don’t want to do them without you. It isn’t a matter of can or can’t. I just don’t want to. This was OUR dream. This was OUR life. And now, it’s not.

It’s so unfair. I just miss you so much. Life isn’t as beautiful as it once was, and it never will be again. You gave me the reason to get up each morning, you gave me reason to be a wife. I miss that.

I hope we know each other in Heaven. I can’t imagine what it’s like, but I hope we will be together there. Our souls are one. I knew you were mine the day we met, and in spite of the difficulties, I wouldn’t have wanted to go through them with anyone else.

I love you. I miss you. I want you to come home. Come back to me and hold me once more.

Funny headline. And while it’s true, it’s overshadowed by the ache in my soul for the man that I love, that should be here, watching and helping me work the farm.

I think back to the week leading up to you dying. We were antsy about you needing a by-pass. How that cracking of the chest would put you back at least 6 weeks. This, beyond all things, was our biggest worry. How could we not have even considered you wouldn’t make it to the surgery? God BJ, it wasn’t even in my head that you might not live long enough. What were we thinking?

We had storms again yesterday. Enough to keep me inside, resting from the hard work, trying to catch up on the computer work. I hate it. I hate sitting inside because I look around, shake my head, and try to convince myself that you really aren’t going to come home. It’s surreal. Will this non-belief/belief end? I don’t know. One part of me is sure it’s real. Finished. Done. Over. The other part of me is waiting for your funny face to pop around a corner and tell me it was all a big joke.

I’m waiting for the punchline. How long must I wait? The dogs would be so happy. But not near as happy as me. So come on home. The joke is over.

The good news is, Dad and Peg are moving just outside of Tyler. Moving here, on raw land, would be too much for them, and me. Without you here to operate the backhoe, to assist in cleaning that area up, it’s just too much for everyone. And at the end of the day, they need a fancier set up than what we can offer. I get it. I’m just so very, very glad, they’re closer than 30 minutes away. I wish it was closer, but it’s close enough.

The kids are coming out next week to lend a hand. Even Vince is going to drop by. Maybe he can take a look at that a/c in the bedroom and get it running before summer really drops down on me.

Bill has been a godsend. Sticking close to make sure I don’t lose my mind, and helping in areas that I simply don’t understand, or don’t want to deal with.

Our entire family has really rallied behind me, and it has helped so very much. I feel very loved, wanted, comforted. I’m blessed to have so many pitching in to help when it’s really not convenient for them to do so.

At the end of the day, none of it is a good substitute for you. I wish we were here, with the family doing their own thing, and us doing ours. I wish we were on the backside of your surgery, not me dealing with grief and sorrow and loneliness. This shit sucks. Big time.

It’s a very good thing we have the dogs. And Devon. I’m not sure how much more I would want to stick around if I didn’t know how much the dogs and Devon need me. Life is not the same without you. And while I was devastated, and am still not yet over, the death of Ma or Mom, your death far exceeds that feeling of losing them.

I cannot understand it. I don’t think I ever will. I miss you. I love you. I can’t wait to see you again.

We had storms day before yesterday. Scary, as always, and I vacillated on whether I was truly scared, or wishing for the big one. Self preservation mostly won. I implemented a few precautionary measures – put that insulation bubble wrap on the windows in case of hail – but overall I didn’t care or worry near as much as normal. Just hoping that if the big tornado came, the dogs went with me.

Lightning struck Gilbert’s yard. Took out his electric meter. Fried Devon’s modem. Which in turn, as it turns out, fried mine too. I didn’t know that though. I went to Walmart and bought one and brought it home to Devon to install. It was the wrong dang one. I was so irritated, because I hate going to town. I really hate going to town twice.

I called Frontier and they said they would send me a new one. Then called back and said they would send a technician out, the next day!

Fast forward to yesterday. The guy arrives, Devon installs it, it works. Great news. It’s colder than shit outside — April, in Texas! — and I came home checked my internet, works! I had planned to make bread and biscuits for the week because I didn’t get it done on Sunday, and then my internet quit working.

I was convinced Devon did something. He was going to wire tie it to shelf like you did then mine quit working. I threw a fit. I was mad. I need the internet for work. I just wanted him to fix it. I was thinking it might be that long cat5 cable we’ve got buried, and BJ, I couldn’t take another big project right now. I immediately shut down. Internally, rage had take over. I stalked over to Devon’s to find out what he did, and you know how he can be. He’s vague, he tells half truths, he eliminates important details. I was just so mad.

Mentally I was done for the day. I wanted to sit here and sulk. I was overwhelmed with all the things I’ve got on my plate, and just begged for it to stop. So many things are breaking. The mower is leaking gas. The trucks with their laundry list of problems. The camper leaking. Needing the gate. Needing to plant grass seed. Needing to put in the garden. Needing a solution for the chickens. Needing to put up the green house. Needing to finalize the spot for the bees.

I just couldn’t take another thing. I need you home, here with me, to help me with all this stuff. And then guilt and shame and regret washed over me because I just didn’t appreciate all that you did, or thank you enough, and how I wish I could bring you back and oh what a different wife I would be.

I went back to Walmart and exchanged the modem I bought for Devon for one that would work for me. With his side working, I was hoping that it was just my modem too, and not that long assed cable. When I got home and plugged it all in, it acted like it didn’t want to work, and I had another melt down. Thankfully, this time, Devon wasn’t involved. The dogs were. I yelled and screamed, I just wanted them to shut up, sit down, and let me get this done. But you know my boys. They want their hugs, and to show me their bones. I was having none of that. And Trooper with his growling. I really wasn’t going to have any of that.

I did finally get it to work, but the emotional roller coaster I had been on all day mentally wore me out. I planned to make potato soup for supper, but Devon had my bean pan, and didn’t answer my text about bringing it over, and I decided then and there, I wasn’t making supper. I ate some cheese and crackers, and went to bed. It was still daylight, but I couldn’t take another minute.

I’m mentally exhausted. Severely overwhelmed. Trying to do it all at once, and not accomplishing shit. It’s cold outside. But I have outside work to do. Bill wants to help, so I can’t put it off. Lisa wants to come over, so I can’t put off whatever work she can do either. And I shouldn’t be putting any of it off. But I still need to work, and I haven’t done any of that. I’m just running in circles and not knowing where all my time is going. I’m disorganized. Disjointed. Grieving. Feeling sorry for myself.

It’s a vicious circle. And I have no one to talk to about it. That’s not true. I have lots of people to talk to about it. But I only want to talk to one person about it, and you aren’t here. What am I going to do without you? God, how I miss you. Come visit me. Even if it’s in my dreams. Hold me. Love me. Tell me I’m going to be okay. Give me your reassurance, your strength. Your love. You are my very best friend in the world and I miss you so very much.

I’m sorry I didn’t turn left that day. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I will live with that guilt for the rest of my life. However long that may be. I miss you. I love you. Come home to me.

It’s weird you being gone. I don’t understand it. I really don’t. Today I woke up, fed dogs, drank coffee, waited for the sun to rise and went to feed critters. I know you’re not here, but it’s like you’ll be back soon. My mind plays tricks with me. That I’m doing these things ‘until you get back’. That you’ll be impressed with all the work I got done for you while you were gone. It’s a game I’m playing and I don’t know how long it will work.

Bill came over today to help me and Devon clear brush, cut trees, and get the front ready for a fence. With three people it moved pretty quickly, and while it was a small spot, it seemed like a huge accomplishment. You’d have been proud. And I was proud of us. We did good. And then out of no where, my heart hurt. Why didn’t I do this for you, with you, while you were here? Did you want me to? Were you content to tinker with it on your own with Devon, or were you disappointed I did the girlie things and didn’t pitch in? It hurts me to think we could have been doing this together, and didn’t.

I had a good day. I wasn’t sad. I worked hard, and stayed on task and got a lot of work accomplished. I came in to cook supper, and fill dog bowls, set up the coffee pot and my heart lurched in fear. Have I forgotten you? Am I getting too comfortable in my new routine? Shouldn’t I still be crying and wailing and trembling in grief? Or is this a different kind of grief? Denial? Pretend? Fooling myself?

I worry I’m going to forget your face, your voice, your presence. And then I laugh at myself because how could that be? You were the single most pivotal person/moment/being in my whole adult life. How can your influence ever leave me? But how can I just continue to move forward without you here? How does this grief, and moving forward work while still honoring the person you are in my life?

In this new world, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what is right. I fear I’m losing you, and I fear I’m going to lose myself. I just don’t know what to do anymore except “move on”. Isn’t that what they say, you just got to move on? How is that possible? How is that right?

All I know to do is work, to continue the improvements on this land that has your mark on it. Computer work is difficult. I can’t concentrate. I can’t sit still. But yet, it is what is going to support me and Devon and our future. However long that may be.

I’m not afraid to die. While I don’t want it to happen anytime soon, I wouldn’t care if it did. My biggest concern is Devon and the animals. I hope I can stick around long enough to see them through. No one wants our dogs. Our mutual wish was that we would live long enough for them to die of old age. That’s still my goal. I hope that happens. But without you here, life doesn’t have the same appeal it once did. You were my partner, my best friend, and the world has lost its shine without you in it.

God only knows how much my heart breaks without you. He is giving me strength to move forward, and only He knows what the plan is. But I’m waking up each day ready to continue the good work you did here. Perhaps not with the same vision, but with the best I’m capable of. I hope you’re proud of me. I hope I can do your memory honor. I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you. I love you. God how I miss your beautiful face.

Yesterday, in spite of all the frustrations, turned out not too bad. I ordered a new chainsaw. It’s probably not something you would have recommended, but it’s small enough for me to tote around, and I hope all the reviews recommending it were right. I picked a Dewalt, your favorite tool brand, so hopefully it’s good. I pray that you can somehow focus on me the next few days as I’ve got so much work to do, and having your support and knowledge and presence would be such a comfort.

I also need to climb up on the top of the camper. You know I don’t like heights, but needs must. The leak is getting worse, and it needs to be sealed. So I need to powerwash, clean, caulk and put down the paint layer to seal it all back up before the darn thing falls apart around me.

I bought fencing yesterday too. I want to get the horses moved, and a gate up to prevent people from just driving up in here without my permission. Not sure how that works for the UPS and FedEx people, but I guess I’ll figure it out. The UPS guy seems really nice, and he really liked you. Weird, that, because how much did you talk to him, really? But he’s sad you’re gone, and said you were a good man. God, I miss you so much.

So today, if the rains hold off, can be a series of things to get done. Still need to put up the green house, and if I don’t build something for the chickens, it’s going to have to be their home until I can.

Fence clearing, greenhouse, camper sealing. We did get Devon’s walkway put in, but that was days ago. With all the rain we’ve been lazy this week. I need to clean house. I’m itching to get the baby chickens outside, but I’m worried about them being unprotected to night creatures. Afraid something will wander by and grab one or more of them. The door isn’t the best, and the fluffed around in the dirt enough yesterday to make a nice little hole where a raccoon could take advantage.

I’ve been pretending you’re out of town on a trip. It helps me get through the days. Sadly, though, I’m ready for you to come home. To come help me out with all this mess, and logically I know you’re not. It’s hard knowing I’ll never see you again. I don’t understand it. It’s very difficult to truly comprehend. It just doesn’t seem real. Still.

I feel a little crazy. Hovering between the real world, and this one I make up in my head. I think that’s why I’ve been so bitter and frustrated with everything going on. Poor Devon walks into my black cloud of emotions, while he’s dealing with his own, and it’s just a firebomb of turmoil. I just want to rage at the skies, at God, at you for leaving me alone. I didn’t want this for our life. We never got to have the little cabin in the woods, the front porch, and the rocking chairs. How is that fair? We wanted to grow old together, and neither of us is old. How is that fair?

Do I doubt God? Yes. Why did he allow this? What could possibly be his purpose? What good did it do to take you so soon? I never understood mom leaving so soon, and I sure don’t understand this. I’m a firm believer in God, as you know, but I question the purpose of this exile from the man I love. Why is this my life? Why did I lose all the humans – Ma, Mom, you – that have meant the most to me? It hurts. It hurts so bad.

I need to stop dwelling on it. Mornings are so hard without you. Our coffee time was the best time we had together each day. Each in our little silent worlds, but close enough to touch. We had a great partnership. I depended on you for so much, and I hope I told you thank you enough. God I miss your sparkly eyes, manly chuckle, and your big, strong body. You were my everything. I’ve loved you since I met you all those many years ago. It just wasn’t enough time for us. I wanted so many more years.

I miss you. I love you. I wish you would come home.

You know babe, I’m a pretty handy gal. Our partnership was always one of reading each others minds and being able to work side by side on any project without hardly a word between us. We were good work partners, and lucky for us, we thoroughly enjoyed each others company. I miss that. I miss having a partner near me that knew his work, had clear concise instructions when I needed to do something, or understood me when I asked you to do something.

Working with Devon, as you remember, is a lesson in patience. Something I have very little of. He mumbles. He doesn’t answer a question directly, without telling you 900 things that don’t relate, and never really answers the question. When you ask him to do something there has to be a discussion as to why, the purpose…everything is like pulling teeth. It makes it hard to get anything done, and half the time I throw my hands up in frustration because I just can’t take it anymore. Which means I’m not getting a damn thing done.

I asked if he had the water hose, and 15 minutes later he’s still yammering on about “technically” the goats have a water hose, and he has a water hose, and maybe the goat one would fit, but he’s not sure, it’s got a quick connect thing, and maybe if he tried it, but then again, he could bring both. MY GOD MY GOD MY GOD just answer the question, or bring me the hose, just quit yammering on and on and on with the nonsense.

The UPS man came and brought my new chainsaw. He had a smaller package that had one of the shirts I bought Devon in it. I bought him some nice long sleeved fishing shirts to work in so he didn’t have to wear sunscreen. I gave it to him when it was delivered and said “This package is for you”.

He hovered near the gate while I was putting the chainsaw together and as I walked outside he had the shirt and wanted to know “are you sure this is mine?”. Like I wasn’t sure. There was no “thanks” there, just the stupid questions, like I didn’t know if it was his or not. He made sure to hold it up so I could see it. Because, apparently, I didn’t know what I ordered or something.

My nerves are frayed this week. I’m angry. Angry to be shouldering everything, angry that you left without saying goodbye, angry to be with a work partner who doesn’t like partnerships and questions everything, yet knows nothing. I’m exhausted. I’m tired. And yet, I’ve not done anything to deserve either adjective.

Yes, yes, Devon is receiving the brunt of my anger. This isn’t new, this questioning and opinionated stubbornness. My anger in retaliation to his opinionated stubbornness hasn’t changed though. It’s been his life long. I’ve never understood why he must give vague answers and too much information that doesn’t relate to the problem, but it’s old. It’s tiresome. I can’t work this way.

Why did you leave me here all alone to deal with the farm, the animals, the work, raising Devon? I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I’m drowning.

Spring time brings the rains, and today is one of those days. I know you looked forward to them sometimes, to catch a break from all the hard work. It gave you time to play your game, and visit with your friends on there.

For me, I promised to go back to work today, and there is no work to do. With this China virus, everyone is laying low, not wanting to spend money, and that leaves me and Devon in a lurch. Not sure what will happen with my business, but it’s a ‘needs must’ thing, because getting a full time job elsewhere wouldn’t pay as much, and with 12 dogs and a farm, wouldn’t work out well.

Rainy days give me too much time to sit idle, think, dwell on missing you, letting my heart break over and over again. I cannot believe you are gone, and sometimes it’s easier to pretend you’re on a trip than to face the reality of being here on this God forsaken planet without you. Life wasn’t supposed to be this way, babe. We were in it together. Finally fighting towards that little cabin in the woods with a couple of rocking chairs. Looks like I’ll be rocking alone, if I make it that far, and that was not the dream we had. Why did you leave me so soon?

I hate being alone. I can’t imagine life without you in it, and here I am facing it. But your stuff is here, your work is here, your presence is everywhere. It’s a stark reminder that you yourself are not. I hate this life. If not for the dogs and Devon, I’m not sure how much longer I would stick around. What’s the point without you? But we promised to take care of these hounds, and who would look after Devon? I’m stuck here, for now. Alone. I need you so badly I ache in my bones. A perpetual lump in my throat, staring endlessly at your chair, and desk, and your things.

I keep your clothes, and John Deere hat, in a plastic bag. I need those things to smell and hold, and feel you near me. It’s a catch 22 though, because it’s a harsh reminder that you’re not here. Everything is a harsh reminder. One I cannot escape. I see your face in pictures and I just can’t breathe. I need you with me, especially now, and know I’m just alone.

I ache. I don’t know why God thought this was a good idea. I’ll never understand it. Never.

I hate rainy days. They leave me with too much time to think. To grieve. To hurt.

I miss you. I love you. Why did you have to leave?