Dear Jonesie:

5 months. 5 months since you took your last breath. 5 months since I saw your face. 5 months since our lives changed irrevocably. I have this huge fear. I fear that I will forget everything. Irrational? Probably. But it’s there. There are so many pictures of you up in the house. I look at them daily. I study them a lot. There’s one in particular, in the kitchen, it’s a picture of just you, from fall of 2018, right after you were diagnosed, it’s the picture I used at your Celebration of Life. I look at if often. And while I know we were pretty devastated that day, you look genuinely happy. I guess because you, we, were. We were still living, we still had each other, we still had our beautiful children, and we had this moment, on the beach, where we live, that was surreal. We were staring death in the face, all while still living. It is my most favorite picture of you. The wind was blowing, your hair is standing straight up, and while we were the furthest thing from footloose and fancy free, you would never know by looking at that picture.

Still, I look at that picture, and I question everything. Were you ever really here? Did we really create this life together? And are you really gone? Of course, it’s all true. You were here. We created this life. And you really, really are gone. And I want to remember everything and forget everything all at the same time. I want to question why and also know that there is no answer. No wonder I feel crazy. As the days go by, though, I probably look at you less. And then when I do, I have to really think to remember that you were mine, for a time, that we were happy, for a time, and that it really did end tragically so soon after it started. I don’t want to forget, but I don’t want to remember, either. Quite the conundrum, wouldn’t you say?

Tomorrow is Easter, which is why I’m writing today, instead (we’re supposed to celebrate Christ rising, not mourn you being gone for the 5th consecutive month, although, to be fair, we will do both). It’s another holiday we must figure out how to celebrate without you. Added bonus, this whole pandemic. And don’t think I don’t know that you are somewhat behind the whole thing. Ash Jones passes away and then somebody eats an undercooked bat and the world has to shut down, other than essential businesses, and GOLF is considered essential??? Coincidence? I think not! Don’t worry, Jonesie, those of us that love you still continue to mourn your loss every day. And we always will. But we also have to continue the business of living, and that’s kind of hard to do when you can’t leave your fucking house. So, maybe, if you could, nip this whole Corona shit in the bud, that’d be great.

The boys are amazing. Jack has really stepped up into the role of Colt caretaker, which is great and awful all at the same time. He tends to forget that he’s not actually an adult and doesn’t really make the rules. He also forgets that I’m the mama, and the grown up, and that he is still a 10 year old boy. He’s really missing baseball, as am I. We play catch frequently, we go to the field with my dad a lot, and we both take batting practice, because, you know, it’s really important that I work on my game. I can still hit harder than him, and I can still run faster than him. It won’t be long before that changes, but for now, I’ll take all the wins I can get!

Digital learning has proved to be challenging and not so challenging. Our only real conflict is math. The amount of math work is overwhelming and Jack and I do not agree on how math should be done, probably because math is no longer taught how we learned it. There are so many graphs and charts and dots, his paper looks more like a Picasso painting gone wrong than math work. But, we’ve only cried a handful of times, and yelled at each other a few more times. So I guess we’re succeeding?

Colt is still wonderfully weird and entertaining. He is starting to get super into basketball and baseball. He “shoots” daily and insists on hitting off the hit stick most days as well. Yard work is still his favorite, not that I’ve been doing any yard work, but Steve (God bless Steve) came by not long ago to do some maintenance and Colt dropped everything he was doing to follow Steve around with whichever yard tool was being used at the time. It was hilarious and heartbreaking. He should be out there with you, following you around, sitting in your lap and cutting the grass, following you with the leaf blower, all the things you always did together.

It seems there’s not a lot to update you on because, you know, Earth is closed and whatnot. We’re bored. I’ve never been more lonely. But we’re also getting closer and loving each other harder. Jack and Colt, while having always been pretty close, especially given their age difference, have been clinging to each other even more during this Stay Home Stay Safe lifestyle we’re adapting to. They battle droids and orks in the yard, they’re constantly changing costumes (and yes, leaving the discarded costumes wherever the hell they land, as usual), they play video games together (well, Jack plays while Colt gives odd instructions that make no sense), they eat together, they watch movies together, they sleep together. They do it all. Together. I wish you were here to see it. To watch it with me. But I’m certain you probably have a good view, wherever you are and see the unbreakable bond between brothers.

I’m still trying to buy a lot, but, unfortunately, again, the world is shut down and either the sellers don’t want to sell it to me, or anyone, or they’ve decided it’s worth way more than what I’m offering or something else that I don’t know or understand. I made a final take it or leave it offer and I’ve heard not a damn word. This was a month ago. It’s very frustrating but what isn’t right now?! I’ve also been toying with the idea, since my building dreams are on hold currently, of going back to the remodeling this house plan and putting in a pool. Jack is wholeheartedly in love with this idea, mainly because he has pool tunnel vision. I’m on the fence. I don’t love this house. I especially don’t love this house without you. I’d like a fresh start. Someplace new. Someplace that I created, well, someplace that I had a say in the creation. Someplace where the image of you, lying in a hospice bed, bile dripping from your mouth, puddling in your clavicle, not breathing, no longer with me isn’t the only thing I can see in our living room. So while a pool would be fun, I don’t think it’s enough to make me want to stay.

Sorry I got a little depressing there. But your death is depressing. And the vision I have of your death is also depressing. And if I can’t talk to you about it, who do I talk to? I think that’s the hardest part of losing your best friend. I know I have people I can talk to, but they aren’t you. You, who thought I was pretty freaking amazing, even at my worst, you who loved me for me, you who didn’t always understand me, but accepted me anyway. You who knew the good, the bad and everything in between and still liked me. Mostly.

Happy Easter, Jonesie. We’re still ok, in a damaged sort of way.

Love,

Poopsie, Donkey and Mr. Tolt