2022 is THE WORST

 Dear John,

It started with my uncle - but I wasn't too surprised when Covid got him.

Then, you - obviously devastating.

Then, my gynecologist - he was my favorite doctor ever.  He actually listened to things I said.  It is believed that he also took his life, due to unbearable back pain, even after surgery.  He was buried the same day you were.

Then, one of the guys from your hometown - M was good friends with him.

Then, this weekend, the nephew of one of my blogger friends.  Only 17 - I'm so sorry, Lori

I hope that's all 2022 has in store.  I've had enough, thanks.

Love, 

A

The coroner

 Dear John,

The police called the coroner to the house to investigate your death.  I didn't have the will to make everyone take their shoes off.  Now that we've got dogs, I wonder if it's worth it for anyone.  I'll have to ponder that.  We were ready for new carpet last year.  Maybe I'll actually get some soon.

I didn't look around much when I got home that day.  I just saw you, grabbed our daughter, and waited for the police.  They also brought EMTs who tried to revive you.  The coroner brought a chaplain and called the funeral home.  When they took you out, the chaplain took our girl into her room...and then sat on her bed.  For the first time in forever (you may recognize that as a lyric from a song from Frozen), your child was happy to change her sheets.  We may have let her develop a bit of germophobia.

Anyway, as people were milling around, I was pacing and trying to stay out of the way.  As I was wandering the kitchen, I saw the beer bottles by the fridge.  They're still there, by the way, 4 months later.  I can't bring myself to put them in the recycle bin, but I will get there.  Then I paced some more, and noticed all the pill bottles.  Anything you had in the way of painkillers was there and empty.  

I feel responsible, since I had suggested to you that there were some drugs that could help with anxiety.  You asked the VA psychiatrist for some valium and he sent it to you.  You took the whole bottle.  I had 15 year old leftover drugs (percocet?) from my c-section.  I had 10 year old leftover drugs from my hernia operation.  You had migraine medication.  You took all of that.  And probably smoked some weed - the kid said she smelled it.

It took 6 weeks for the toxicology report to come back - for some reason, they sent it to Pennsylvania.  They called and confirmed that all of those things were in your system.  But then, they wanted to know where you got the vicodin that was also there.  I was irritated because...what did it matter?  I failed to remember that they wouldn't have known that you weren't out and about buying drugs.  I told the investigator that it was probably from one of my surgeries and that you had just combined bottles.  She wanted to inquire further, I think, but I changed the topic.

The police took your note.  Once the coroner completed your death certificate, I called to get it back.  And then I promptly forgot about arranging to pick it up.  I showed up 3 days late.  I've been having lots of memory issues since you left.  It's starting to get better, bit by bit.  

Since I've had your death certificate, I've been able to manage most of the paperwork.  I still have to go and change the deed on the house.  I did go to the bank, where Barb was so angry and sad.  She said her brother had also taken his life about 10 years ago.  If she had known, she would have helped.  I told her that you only showed what you wanted people to see.  I wish you had known that she cared about you.  I also need to get your stock options from that contracting company that you worked for - it has been, without a doubt, the largest pain in my ass of all the paperwork I've had to file.  

One of the new people at work interned at the coroner's office.  She said your favorite neighbor said something racist in front of the only black employee at the coroner's office.  I told her about the spite berm that you built.  All the trees are still alive and blocking the neighbors out nicely.  Those people put a sympathy card in the mailbox 3 months after the fact.  Maybe they think that I'll let bygones be bygones, but everyone underestimates me and my grudge-holding ability.  

Speaking of grudge-holding, your sister K invited us to a family gathering in August.  Not sure yet if we'll go, and if we do...will I warn her that they might feel awkward when I refuse to acknowledge the existence of S and her family?  Hmmm, we shall see.

Love,

A

Let's talk about sex, baby

 Dear John,

It's Saturday night.  Saturday was the day we usually had sex.  It freaks me out a bit to think that we will never do that again.  And that I may never do that again.  

My grandmother was widowed in her 40s.  My mom was widowed around the same age I am.  My grandmother never dated again, but she apparently wanted to be a nun before my grandfather talked her into marriage.  My mom dated someone after my dad died.  He was 20 years older than her, which was not that weird - may dad was 17 years older.  But it made things weird as he was farther along in aging. 

I can't imagine dating.  I will never marry again - that was a one-time only deal.  Not only do I not want to be married to anyone else, the financial impact would be significant.  I doubt I will date either.  I don't have the energy to contemplate it.  First, by the time I would be ready to date...I would be in my mid-50s.  At least.  Second, I would have to move - I'm in a land full of Trumpers, and there's no one less likely for me to want to date.  But it's scary to think that in just a few years, I will be alone as my girl goes off to college.  That was not the plan.  It was supposed to be us, fighting with each other, forever.

Love,

A

A musical interlude

 Dear John,

The radio was playing The Fray's "How To Save A Life" as I was driving home today.  The chorus hit me pretty hard:

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

I should have known something was wrong when you were holding my hand while I was sleeping, Monday and Tuesday nights.  I woke up to it and squeezed back just a little.  You never liked to hold hands, but you did it a few times this year on our walks.  I guess you were trying to hold on and stay with us, when you had sort of already decided to go.  

I also wish I had stayed up with you all night - but you knew that was impossible.  When I decided it was bed time, I got in bed and went to sleep.  Unlike you, who would walk around and check the house, adjust the temperature, do a few minor tasks, check the kid, and an hour later finally go to bed, I would say "I'm going to bed" and then be in bed within 10 minutes and asleep within 20.  When you were able to get in bed at the same time...or if you were already there when I got there...you always wanted to talk.  I just wanted to go to sleep, so you would talk, and I would try to listen, and then I would fall asleep.  I'd usually wake up after a few minutes, usually when you had gotten everything off your chest.  You didn't really need me to listen; you just needed to talk.  I called it your lullaby. It put me to sleep every time. But that last night...when you asked if I had heard what you said...I suspect I missed something very important.  I don't know whether you were disappointed or relieved.  I do think you had decided to go through with taking your own life (depending on what the stock market did the next day), and were sort of looking for me to talk you down.  But you didn't give me your usual signals.  And I fell asleep and I think I missed your statement of intent.  I did feel you hold my hand and I wish I could have held on tighter.  I wish it hadn't been a Tuesday, when I was at work for 13 hours and thoroughly exhausted.  I wish you had talked to me earlier.  I wish you could have made different choices and stopped doing the things that made you feel so terribly bad about yourself when you were already anxious and depressed.  I wish a lot of things. 

I also can't get that Glass Animals "Heat Waves" song out of my head - of course, it's on repeat on the radio, but also:

Sometimes all I think about is you
Late nights in the middle of June
Heat waves been faking me out
Can't make you happier now

and

I just wonder what you're dreaming of
When you sleep and smile so comfortable
I just wish that I could give you that
That look that's perfectly un-sad

You were the music afficionado.  You were always on YouTube, looking for songs, complaining about the ads.  I just listen to what's on the radio - I don't usually seek out particular songs.  But these, and some of the lines in Juice Wrld's "Lucid Dreams" are playing in my head a lot lately.  I wish the iPod that you used all the time could tell me what you listened to the most.  Of course, those weren't your favorite songs necessarily; they were just whatever could drown out the ringing in your head.  I hope you have some pleasant silence, and can access music solely for enjoyment now.  

We did listen to what I have always thought of as "our song" on our recent
trip.  "Shake the Disease" by Depeche Mode - your daughter thought it was a good song.  I'm glad she agrees.  

Love,

A

An obvious play for sympathy

 Dear John,

Your family has been...your family.  C has been in contact with me the most.  She texts me whenever she needs comfort.  Your SIL reaches out, but I haven't spoken to your brother since the day you died.  K has some regrets, I think, but is her usual self.  Unless you're directly in front of her, you don't really matter.  E has expressed some sorrow that there was distance between you.  I have completely blocked S, and will never speak to her again.

There was, as usual, a clear division of my family vs yours at the funeral.  Not one of your siblings spoke to any of my family.  My family would have been receptive, if cool.  My sisters told their kids to surround our girl and make sure she was never without one of them.  She and I sat with your mom.  The rest of your family sat together on the opposite side of the aisle.  I know you didn't want a funeral.  And I wouldn't have done it at all, but I felt bad for your mom for a minute.  She needed a ritual to say goodbye - I think our daughter sort of did too, even though she hasn't been raised in church.  It rained so hard that day until everything was done - I said it was you expressing your disapproval of the proceedings.  On the plus side, I applied for, and received, additional burial benefits from the VA, so it brought down the cost of the proceedings.  Your mom paid for the mass and the musicians - I didn't offer to do that.

So, why am I never speaking to S again?  I stopped by your mom's a day or two after the funeral to drop off some cards.  S was there and they were asking me questions about you.  I told them that you had been struggling for a long time.  I didn't want to violate your privacy, but I thought they needed to know that I had mentioned your issues.  Your mom saw it as me making an excuse for your behavior rather than as a signal that she needed to get closer to you and try to help.  That may seem like a harsh judgement on her, but I think it's true.  Anyway, later, S texted me for more information.  I gave her a slightly longer version of how you had withdrawn from everyone.  It was a fairly neutral response - I am not here to absolve anyone of their guilt, but I wasn't blaming either.  She replied with the following:    

    "He did speak to M and D the weekend before.  No one noticed anything unusual.  I know John is         private but I can't believe you wouldn't want to tell us that he was suicidal.  He's our brother &             you're his wife.  If you cared, you would have told somebody, that he was talking about it, even if         he didn't want you to"

Let me tell you, I was HEATED when I read that.  I replied very coolly, though, reminding her that her actions were a main factor for why you were distant from your family.  I told her that saying anything to her or anyone else would have been a major violation of your trust.  I told her, more or less, that I didn't owe her anything, and she should not pursue that line of thought with me.  So, of course, she doubled down and told me that other people were hurting too.  BLOCKED.  She's still on the family group text, but I don't see what she says.

In true (Your Family) style, though, I have sent a few passive aggressive messages out.  I may have married in, but I have the name and I will use some of the traits when it suits me.  To E, I send an occasional picture of the many drawings or notes she sent you when she was younger.  Am I deliberately reminding her that you adored her and were very hurt when she pushed you away?  Yes.  Yes, I am.  I send C photos of you and her and D having fun - a little reminder that she also withdrew from you.  I'm mostly avoiding your mom - still waiting for her to follow up on her idea to come up here to see us.  I think it's going to be a long wait.

Your daughter has inherited the worst of us, though, as far as grudges go.  She has no interest in seeing any of her aunts/uncles, cousins, or grandmother.  I think she was really hurt that your mom forgot her both for her last birthday and for Christmas.  So, now, as far as she's concerned, they don't really exist for her.  When I mention any of them, she sort of sneers.  I can't blame her.  I will probably try to attend some sort of family gathering and drag her along.  She may need that connection someday.  We shall see.  We did go to see A when we were in Chicago.  She continues to be a delightful person.  Cousin K had a major faceplant bike accident and did some serious damage to his cranium.  I sent him some Legos for entertainment, because he has to take it easy for a while.  D had surgery for Deep Vein Thrombosis - that's kind of scary.  C says he's doing well, but has to wear his compression socks all the time.  E just posted something very curious on FB, that appeared to be an ad for an orthodontist.  Weird.  That's all I know for now.

Love,

A

Taxes

 Dear John,

Your stock trading made our taxes so complicated.  I did the easy parts, and left the investment stuff to you.  I always assumed you were not doing them properly.  We hadn't yet filed when you died, so the first thing I did was file for an extension and then send all the info off to my sister's friend, who is an accountant.

I am just the tiniest bit irritated today to find out that the accountant is going to do the taxes the exact same way you did them.  He said that the people who usually do that kind of filing work for companies with accountants who track that stuff.  I don't know how much I'm paying him for this yet, but I guess it's worth it, since I don't have to be the one to answer correspondence from the IRS this time.  Sigh.

In other news, I went to visit your grave today.  The VA finally got your headstone done properly.  They have the correct rank this time.  I still don't know what Arcom is, but I guess it's not important.  They did not mention anything about your service in Enduring Freedom - they left it as Persian Gulf.  That's probably where many of your problems started, so I guess it's fine.  You're between an Army guy and an Air Force guy.  Most of the graves around you are WWII vets, but the Air Force guy served in Vietnam.  I suppose you would probably give him a break on all the grief you would usually heap on Air Force vets, since Vietnam was difficult on everyone.  I left you some roses - I was hoping for a colorful bouquet from Aldi, but red roses were all they had.  I think those were your favorite flowers to receive anyway, and the red ones are for love, so it was most appropriate.  I'll take the kid back soon - we'll find something else, and maybe get a container to put them in.  

I was going to get gas while on that side of the river, but that's a state with an abortion ban, so I'm trying to limit my spending there.  Plus, the gas isn't any cheaper there than at home, for some reason.  I'm going to make the kid fill up the car, though, as you had intended for her to do with her first paycheck.  It's way past that, but I will get it done.

Love,

A

Sales

 Dear John,

Today has been hard.  I'm having a garage sale to pare down some of the stuff in the house.  I've got a bunch of your clothes and shoes and military stuff for sale.  The military stuff is selling well, but as usual, not much else is.

It's so difficult to give up your stuff.  I don't want it here any more, but it feels like letting you go too soon.  You don't need the stuff, and you would definitely be in favor of getting rid of it.  But it makes me cry.  You hardly wore anything but sweatpants and sweatshirts (or t-shirts and shorts, depending on the weather) the last 10 years, but I look at your clothes and remember times when you wore them to work, or for family celebrations.  You wore those corduroy pants all the time.  I'm keeping your cashmere sweater, obviously.  It will complement my collection, since I didn't have a chocolate brown one.  

I'm glad to get rid of your military stuff.  I don't know if I resent the Army for making you the way you were or for not figuring out how to keep all the veterans with suicidal thoughts alive.  But I don't need the 5 American flags, assorted uniforms, random specialty pieces, or anything else.  I know you were proud of your service, and very harsh when talking about anyone who hadn't served who wanted to determine US policy.  I'm just sort of indifferent to it all now.  I'm sure I will be angry later.

I got into an argument with your daughter, as John Jr. decided to tell me how to do something that I was already in the middle of doing.  🙄🙄🙄  She left me to do all the work for the garage sale.  Little does she know that she's on duty tomorrow.  Maybe she will also inherit your ability to sell stuff along with your annoying habit of assuming I'm incompetent.

I still have all the baseball cards, tractors, and pocket watches.  That's going to take a while longer to disperse.  I'm more than a little irritated that I have to deal with all that stuff.  It's very distressing to have a bunch of things that you want to get rid of, but can't just give away because you know they're worth money.  So, thanks for that.  

I did sell that stupid vacuum you chose.  Sure, it was only $60, and it worked well enough, but the hose came off every time I tried to vacuum.  I'm hoping the new one I ordered will make it easy to vacuum the stairs and keep the dog hair under control.  It also claims that it won't get hair wound up in it.  That will save us a lot of trouble.  It will (supposedly) also vacuum the bare floors with ease, so maybe I can get rid of the other vacuum too.  Why do we have 4 vacuums, anyway?  

As I type "supposedly," I suddenly miss hearing you say "supposably" even though it drove me up a wall every time you said it.  

Love,

A

I did what I said I would

 Dear John,

We got a dog a couple weeks after you left us.  I always said I would do it, but it turns out that the shelter got a dog that we weren't allergic to on the day of your funeral.  His owner died, and the family didn't want him.  I saw him the Sunday when he became available, and brought him home the same day.  Our girl tried to get him to sleep with her but he started following me around immediately.  Plus...he's 9.5 years old.  He used to cry when I left, but he's better now.  He sleeps with me, loves walks and car rides, and wishes he had access to food all the time.  He's also partly the same breed as one of the dogs I had when we were first dating.

Since he loved me so much (or, you know, had shared trauma), our girl wanted her own dog.  So I looked around for a puppy for her.  I found one near where my sister lives - we went to visit them for my niece's graduation and picked up the dog then.  He was an adorable black mop - the same breed that your oldest sister has.  Hers is white, and our little guy seems to be slowly turning white.  He's hilarious and pounces on his toys.

We took them to my other sister's house for our annual visit.  There were a few fights, but mostly everyone got along pretty well.

I wish you would have agreed to get a dog.  Old man would have followed you around instead of me.  Little man would have snuggled up to you and made you laugh.  They would have got you out and about going for walks.  They also have made messes and cost me lots of money.  But it's worth it.

The floors are holding up OK.  Maybe there are some scratches.  And Old man scratched up the bathroom door when I left him locked in.  I painted most of what he tore up, so you can't even see it.  Little man keeps destroying clothing - mostly underwear.  But they're both so worth it.

Love,

A

Pride

 Dear John,

You would be so proud of your girl today.  She is attending something she calls "manager camp" because her boss decided to promote her to assistant manager already.  I'm glad you got to see her start her first job.  She is so much like you when it comes to working.  She loves getting paid and watching her bank balance grow.  She's so reliable and hard-working that after 3 months, her boss decided to let her, a 15 year old with no previous work experience, be responsible for helping run 2 different venues.  

Of course, you would not have let her work as much as I have.  You would have complained about driving back and forth.  You would have bemoaned the price of gas.  You would have said she needed more down time, though she doesn't really have anything else to do.  You would have been really irritated by the fact that she often gets out so much earlier than she's scheduled.  But you would still have been impressed with her work ethic and enjoyment of being employed.

She has made a few frivolous purchases so far - she got her iPhone.  That one is kind of funny, since she got a job to buy her own phone and pay for her own plan so you couldn't take her phone away from her again.  Too bad she didn't realize her plan would never have worked.  The thing is...she's not on it as much as you assumed she would be.  But she also succumbed to peer pressure and then found that her peers still criticized her for getting a phone that was too fancy.   She also paid ridiculous amounts of money for a pair of shoes.  

I wish you understood how your anxiety fed her anxiety, and that's why she rejected your offer to drive her to work that Saturday.  She didn't know where to go, and when you expected people to know something and they didn't, you would get upset.  She knew that, and didn't want you to be upset or have to manage that when she was already nervous.  It wasn't a rejection of you, just of your reactions to things.

We miss you every day.  She's in therapy to talk about you, but she's also there complaining about her friends and classmates.  There's a boy who seems to be trying to date her, but she's very suspicious of his motives.  You'd be proud of that, too.

Love,

A

Background

I met my husband at work.  We shared an office, but that is a story for another day.  In addition to our profession, my husband was also an Army Reservist.  He was deployed multiple times, including to the First Gulf War (Desert Storm) and to Uzbekistan/Afghanistan (Operation Enduring Freedom).  Due to his experiences there, he experienced a variety of physical and mental issues that caused him to be completely disabled 9 years ago.  He was frequently obsessive, entertained many conspiracy theories, was too anxious to leave the house (although he managed a few 3 day vacations over the years), and didn't like to go anywhere new.  This was quite a change from when I met him - 25 years ago, he was adventurous, silly, appreciative of life, and always trying to be positive.  We got married upon his return from Afghanistan.  I sometimes think he wasn't sure I would wait for him, since his deployment was almost a year long. Over time, he became joyless, relentlessly negative, and very much down on himself.  I operated as his therapist, because he didn't trust the medical systems to treat him properly (with good reason).  Our daughter was his only source of happiness and that happiness was fleeting.  As she became a teenager, he had a more difficult time navigating a relationship with her.  He wanted discipline and respect, but he also wanted to act like the sibling she never had.  She found that incomprehensible and unpredictable, and so they would butt heads a lot.  

My husband was an amazing man.  He could figure out how to do almost anything.  It would drive me a little crazy when he would call for estimates for projects and then decide he could do it himself.  He built our house.  Sure, he was the general contractor, but he also helped the framers build, assisted with the siding, worked with a friend to do the roof, installed the hardwood floors on his own, made me help with the insulation and painting (and the tray ceiling in our bedroom that was completed after much swearing), helped his friend do all the wiring, and completed any repairs necessary.  He would also figure out how to fix anything by YouTube video.  And once he qualified for disability, he stayed home and kept the house clean, delivered the kid to school, and generally made my life so easy that I couldn't even believe it.  In the pandemic years, he also started experimenting with cooking.

He was really excellent at buying and selling things for a profit.  He had a great head for numbers and a good eye for things he could buy cheap and sell for more money.  It started in his teens with cars and motorcycles.  But over the past years, he took up collecting, repairing, and selling antique pocket watches.  But he was also obsessed with the stock market, which was a huge source of stress and misery for him, and was one of the main reasons he decided that he could not live any longer.  

I miss him every day.

I decided against the really inappropriate title that first came to mind

 A few months ago, my husband died by suicide.  He died on the 9th anniversary of my mom's death.  Our 15 year old daughter found him.  While she is seeing a counselor, that's not the right thing for me.  It occurred to me that I could write what I'm thinking about, so I have decided to dust off ye olde blog.  I'll be changing the name - I think it will mostly be like writing letters to my husband, so I am going to rename this space to Dear John.  (Let me tell you, Are You Kidding Me? still fits very well, because this was definitely not supposed to happen.  But there are things I want to tell him, and saying them in my head seems inadequate.)