Dear Jonesie:

It’s month 4 since you left us. We’ve made it 1/3 of a year without you. (4th grade is really helping to sharpen my fraction skills, so I just thought I’d show off a little bit.) Yesterday I spent a great deal of time looking at a picture of you and just studying your hands. I remember your hands so vividly (of course, the picture didn’t hurt remembering them either!). But I remember how strong they were, though not the largest hands ever. I remember how well they could grip a golf club, how incredible they always felt all the times you eased the tension out of my lower back, which always felt like an easing of my soul. Your hands were always magic, a soothing balm to my anxiety riddled interior. I remember your nails always being a hair too long because trimming them was one of your least favorite things to do. When I first met you, I wondered if you got manicures because they always seemed so perfectly shaped, albeit a tad longer than I found acceptable (you didn’t by the way, which thank goodness, I’m not sure it would have worked out if you did. Although I gotta say, our current situation isn’t really working out for me either)! I miss those hands. I miss the man they were attached to.

I miss everything. Even the things I never thought I’d miss. Like sleeping – you were a cuddler, I am not. We always had words over this. I hate to be touched when I’m sleeping and now I can’t sleep because you’re not here touching me. Ironic isn’t it? Physical touch is something you take for granted when you’re in a relationship, I think. I mean, you used to drive me crazy with your constant grabbing at me and hugging me and just need to feel me. And now, what I wouldn’t give to have you hold me all night long, just once more. I’ve even considered paying someone just to cuddle with me for an hour. Apparently that’s a thing you can do now. Weird, right? Except it’s not once you’ve been deprived of it when you once had an overabundance of it. Nattie is doing a fine job attempting to take your place. While you were more of a chest man, she enjoys curling up on my rear end, until I kick her away, much like I used to kick you away. I often wonder if part of you lives in her. She hates if I sit in an area she can’t reach me, follows me whenever I leave the room and is constantly on top of me whenever I’m relaxing on the couch. Sound a little familiar? Yeah, I know.

I was just talking with my mom the other day about one of our worst ever fights and instead of making me angry or sad or upset, it had me laughing out loud. Do you remember it? I got drunk (shocking, I know). We had all gone to dinner to celebrate a friend’s birthday. Much wine was consumed (not by you, damn liver disease). I, as usual, did not want the fun to end. You were pretty over it. I ended up going to hang with our friends a little longer while you decided to go home with the offer to come get me later. When you came to get me, I, of course, wasn’t ready to leave. You were not amused. Words were exchanged, things got heated. You tried to call my mom to “return me” until I could grow up. I took your phone and threw it. You tried to drive me to my mom’s house. I jumped out of your moving truck and ran home. You beat me home because you were in the truck and it apparently drives faster than I drunkenly jog. In a dress. And heels. You locked me out of our home. I’m not sure why I didn’t have any keys but I either didn’t or was too drunk to remember I had them. I banged on the door. Yelled. Cursed. Cried. Called my friend. Considered calling the police. You finally let me in but went upstairs and locked me out of our bedroom. Me, being the angry, temper-fueled Irish lass that I am, kicked a hole in our bedroom door. And while none of these are my finest moments, I couldn’t help but laugh recalling how ridiculous it all was. How ridiculous I was. What an ass you were. But it was another story in our book. One that I now look back on with fondness.

I think you will be proud to know that Missy and I dominated the women’s golf league. I think we even get a trophy. There’s a party next week, but I’m not sure I will attend. It was bittersweet, the golf league. I’m proud that I got through it but I have my doubts that I will be able to do it again. Kicking ass was fun, though! But probably not enough.

I wonder daily if I’m failing our children. This isn’t new but what is new is not having you to pick me up when I’m falling, to kick me in the ass when I’m being a pansy, to tell me it’s ok when I’ve reached my limit and freak out on everyone, to take over when my patience has worn too thin. They deserve my best and if I’m completely honest, my best is none too good these days. The worst part is how unbelievably tired I feel every. single. day. It’s a bone deep fatigue that I just can’t shake. I don’t sleep when I’m supposed to, yet could fall asleep at the drop of a hat when it’s not possible. And, for once, it’s not lifestyle. I’m in the best shape I’ve been in since before we had Colt. I exercise daily. I eat well and I eat less. I guess that’s what losing your person does for you. It makes you fucking tired.

The boys miss you. (Hello, my name is Captain Obvious and I’m a moron.) Jack just recently “performed” in the talent show. He and a friend did a comedy skit. It was cute. Talent? I won’t be the judge of that but he was brave and confident and is already talking about what he will do next year for the show. Our boy is breaking out of his shell. He is so strong. His confidence grows by the day. And I also think he may have a girlfriend. She’s very cute. She followed him around the talent show everywhere he went. She stared at him so much, I was beginning to worry she may burn a hole in his handsome face. But that didn’t happen (probably because it’s not possible). Jack claims she doesn’t like him, she likes his friend. But I know women/girls. While she may say out loud that it’s Jack’s friend she likes, I can read all over her face how she really feels. It’s cute and disturbing at the same time. He’s 10, chick. He loves baseball, football and his mama. Buzz off. Kidding. Sort of.

We’re headed to Duke this weekend. Maybe. Coronavirus may have other plans, but so far, the game is still on (I’m not sure how it works where you are, but if you have any say, and can make this happen for Jack, and maybe bump the temperature up a bit and eliminate the rain, that’d be great – in my best Office Space voice). Our boy is going to take pre-game batting practice. He will then throw out the first pitch! He’s so excited. I also would like to brag that I now have Coach Pollard’s cell phone number and that feels like a pretty big deal (kind of like when you got Geoff Sprung’s number and started texting with him). He’s almost like a celebrity and we just chat on the phone like old friends. Ok, in reality, we chat on the phone about Jack and logistics and baseball, but whatever. I’m going to pretend we’re old friends and keep his cell phone number and try to not be the reason he has to get it changed.

Colt is Colt. His struggles are at their peak, thus far anyway. We now have a reward system in place for not pissing on the floor. Who knew when I signed up for motherhood, a system would have to be implemented for our potty trained almost 6 year old to not piss not the floor. It breaks my heart how broken he really is. It’s hard to tell from the outside looking in. He looks like any normal 5 year old, running, playing, digging in the dirt. But he’s not. He misses his daddy. He hates that you’re not here. He prays to God nearly daily to send you back to us, but healthy this time. His prayers are always accompanied with tears. They don’t last long, which is the beauty of the 5 year old brain, but they seem to be happening more and more frequently. I took him to the turtle pond the other day. It was a beautiful, sunshiney day and I wanted to reward him for his progress over the last week or so. We haven’t been there since that day we went with you back in October, just a couple weeks before you passed away. And Colt remembered everything about that day – where we saw the most turtles, where we sat for our picnic lunch, even how often you had to stop to rest and relieve yourself of the pain consuming your body.

Colt just completed his first ever basketball season. Some days it was his favorite. Some days it wasn’t. He did score 2 points this season and I wish you could have seen the elation on his face. Maybe you did. He was so proud of himself in that moment. I thought it might fuel a love for the sport. It didn’t. He still just wanted the trophy. And he got it. And he hasn’t looked at it since. He did tell us last night (we went to Owen’s first middle school baseball game; they didn’t win but Owen did awesome, had a hell of a hit his first at bat and did great in left field) he saw a man on the field where he plays t-ball and he decided yep, I am going to play t-ball. Part of me thinks you might have been that man, placed there at exactly the right time for Colt to see. Another part of me recalls how much you hated t-ball so maybe that wasn’t you at all! Who knows? All I know is he wants to play and I’m happy about it.

I’m getting wordy again, but you, of all people, should understand that! Ha! I made an offer on a lot yesterday. I weighed all the pros and cons of each. I explored both lots so often, I’m surprised I wasn’t caught and arrested for trespassing. Ultimately, I let you guide me through the decision. WWAD? Ash would choose the most magical one, the one that reminds us why we live here, in this beautiful place surrounded by stunning views, delicious food and friendly, wave-chasing people. I think I made a decent offer, though on the slightly low side, but you know I love a good deal and you never know unless you try. As my dad put it “Junior, you can always go up but you can’t go back down.” And he’s right. And it’s worth a shot. I’ve also picked out approximately 8 house plans so that will be another fun/agonizing decision to focus on.

Bogey is still Bogey – a little grayer, still moany, groany and all around irritated by everyone. Nattie is instilling a little bit of youth in her, though. While her walks are shorter and naps are longer, she does enjoy several rounds a day of playing with the pup and ultimately putting her in her place.

I hope you’re happy where you are. I hope you can see our boys and all of their accomplishments. I hope you are pain-free, healthy and as handsome as ever. We miss you all the time. And while our hearts are still broken, know that we are slowly but surely healing and mending with every day that passes. Losing you will affect everything we do for the rest of our lives, but you will also live on in everything we do for the rest of our lives.

Take care of yourself wherever you are and we will do the same where we are. We miss you all the time.

Love,

Poopsie, Donkey and Mr. Tolt