Cleaning House

Dear Jon,

Your family arrived a couple days ago and we have begun the task of cleaning out your house. The home of my memories is now starting to look like a house. The group came yesterday and we had a movie night. You would've loved seeing the whole group and your family cozily watching a movie downstairs. I so wish you would've been there. In fact, I kept expecting you to walk through the house at any moment, kept expecting to hear your footsteps down the stairs, kept expecting you to sit down next to me, and wrap your arm around my shoulders...but you never did.

And you should be here. There is still a part of me that cannot believe that this is happening. I'm helping your family sort through your stuff, and yet it doesn't seem real. I keep thinking that maybe we're just sorting through stuff because we're joining households, or you decided to have a garage sale. I keep thinking that you're just going to walk through the door, cross the room and give me a hug hello. How I long for your return, and yet know that's not possible.

I never realized that you could miss someone so tangibly with all of your being. I never knew that you could long for someone so much that you think you can bring them back by sheer will, thoughts, and determination.

WE FEEL CHEATED! All of us. The whole family. Cheated. Cheated that we don't get to see you and me together. Cheated that there will be no wedding. Cheated that there won't be any children to witness you as a father. CHEATED that we found the person that we wanted to be with, connect with, live out our lives with. Why would this happen? Why, when everyone was praying that Jon would find his mate and marry, would it end before completion?

I can't stop having images of the future in my head. They play through my mind like a movie. A future that isn't going to happen, can't happen, because you're not here. I don't even have to close my eyes to see us together. On Thursday, before your family arrived, I was walking around upstairs, and it was as if your house was now our house. I was just prepping for your family's visit, making up the guest rooms, and you were downstairs making dinner. After we were finished, we would convene to the couch and cuddle up and chat about our day, or your family coming to town. Why can't this be the case?

A week. That's all the time I have left to be in your house. A week. Your family leaves on Friday. After Friday, your house will be empty, barren. It no longer even smells like you. The couches where we spent so much time talking are now sitting in the garage awaiting donation. The kitchen table where I sat and watched you cook me dinner the Saturday night before you died is now back to its rightful owner. They CD of the symphony we listened to that Saturday is now laying in a box marked "Les." Everything, all of it, will be gone.

My memories of us are all that's going to be left, and I hate it. I beyond hate it! I hate that there will be no more late night chats cuddling up on the couch. No more movie nights sharing the same blanket. No more watching you cook. No more drives through Horsetooth. No more evenings at the symphony or watching hockey fights on center ice. No more bike rides together in the rain. No more witty puns. No more us!!

It's beyond difficult to surrender to this, to wrap my head around this! I'm not fighting it, it so difficult. I cry often and without warning. I'm crying as I'm writing this. I drove home last night, contemplating pulling over, because I was sobbing so hard that I didn't know if I should be driving at the same time. It hurts. It hurts so bad at times that it actually feels like my heart is breaking. I actually feel physical pain.

Oh Jon, why couldn't you have lived? Why did you have to go? Why? Why? WHY! The unfairness of your death is so hard to fight! I can't believe that we didn't get more time. More time to enjoy what we had both finally found. This just can't be happening. It can't! There's been some mistake.

Why was it necessary for you to go?