Dear Jonesie:

This will be my last letter to you as I’m pretty sure if I write to a dead guy for much longer, I may be hauled off to the Willard Asylum for the Chronic Insane. And while that may sound like a bit of a respite right now, I’m all our children have got, and good or bad, they kinda need me. After all my craziness this week, though, that may be where I actually belong.

I’ve said it before, and I’m certain I’ll repeat it every November 12 for the rest of my life, I can’t believe how quickly time is flying by. How have you been gone a year? How is this the life the Joneses are meant to live? How is it fair? Why did it happen? I wouldn’t wish it on anyone and there’s all that bull shit about God not giving you anything that you can’t handle (who made that shit up anyway is what I’d like to know? Damn optimists I’m sure.) and we’re handling it, so I guess it’s accurate, but some days, especially this day, I do not want to handle it. I wanted to sleep all day but thanks to Covid, the children are home. And thanks to you, it’s fucking raining again. Please know, those that love you will never forget you. Those that love you will always mourn your loss. Those that love you don’t need you to remind us to be sad with all these dark and fucking gloomy days. Haven’t we had this discussion?!

I sat down with the kids today and asked them what they would say to you if you were here right now. At first they balked. They didn’t have anything to say to you, this is weird, we don’t want to. They were awkwardly silent for a few beats, but then some words started coming. From Colt: I love you. I miss you. Can we play legos? Can you see me? Do you get to play golf in heaven? Do you miss me? I wish you were here. I wish you didn’t get cancer, but it just came and I don’t know why. I wish you were having fun with us. From Jack: I love you and I wish you didn’t go to heaven. I miss you being here. What’s heaven like? What are you doing? Where is heaven? Can you see me?

Both boys are really wondering if you can see them. I wonder the same thing? Are you watching over us? Are you protecting us? Are you still loving us? Is any of that even possible? Is heaven everything we thought it would be and more? I feel like you gave me a couple of small signs yesterday, just showing me that you’re still with me, that you won’t leave my side. I will say I don’t appreciate how long it had been since I’ve seen one of your signs but I know how you are, how time works in your mind and I can’t imagine it’s gotten any better since you left us.

Here are the things I would like to say to you. Have you asked God why you? Are you allowed to ask Him that? I miss you – the way you made me laugh, the way you were always touching me, letting me know you were there, that you loved me (even though it always drove me crazy at the time – now it’s one of my most cherished memories), I miss traveling with you, I miss fighting with you and making up with you, I miss your long winded stories and mind numbing lectures (weird, right?). What I wouldn’t give to hear how I overcooked the chicken or bought the wrong fucking cheese dip. I miss late night rap parties in the garage and on the back porch. I miss being the big spoon to your little spoon. I miss Friday golf dates at Kilmarlic and Sunday morning pancakes with the boys. I miss your grilling skills, especially on steak night – that is not something I have yet mastered. I miss hearing Poopsie and Kellies-es and Hot Tits and Tittsies. I miss your too short back rubs and everything that followed. I miss holding your hand as you led me into a room, always you in front because you knew I needed to be led, to have that comfort that if I tripped, you would be right there to catch me. I miss your outside of the box thinking, your different perspective on everything and your crazy ideas. I miss your ability to sell ice to a fucking eskimo. I miss your dreams about Turf’s Up and The Puttio. I miss doing this life with you. I feel so cheated, robbed of what could have been, of how incredible we could have made this life together. We were well on our way to greatness, we had found what we were meant to be doing and we were doing it well. We were thriving, finally, after years of struggle and fighting. But God had other plans. No offense, God, but I fucking hate your other plans.

I also want to thank you for choosing me and for creating our family together. We did good, Jonesie. These boys are something else. You would be so proud of them, how resilient and strong they are. Thank you for loving me, in spite of all my issues, flaws and idiosyncrasies. Thank you for learning to accept who I am or who I was. I am honored and proud to have been your wife, your best friend, your confidant. And last, but not least, thank you for not canceling the life insurance when I kept insisting it was a waste of money.

I think my biggest struggle, since the kids have gone back to school, is finding my purpose. For years, I’ve been taking care of the kids and then you. And I was good at it. I was fulfilled. Now, the kids are growing and need less of me and you are gone (and let’s face it, you were a time consuming full time job, even before you were sick). Do I write a book? Do I go back to work? What the hell would I do? Hello, my name is Kellie and my skills include dark humor, being awkward and wiping asses. Am I hired? Probably not. Your brother wants to start a podcast together. We both think we’re funnier than the other but I’m obviously way funnier than him.

Anyway. I love you my Jonesie. I will always love you. Our lives are marching on. Day by day we are doing it. Sometimes we do great things. Sometimes we do stupid things. Sometimes we don’t do a damn thing. But time continues to move forward and we continue to move with it. Please don’t forget about us. Always let us know you are here for us. Help me keep these boys on the strait and narrow. Help keep me that way, too. Don’t let us make too many mistakes. And try to help us find our way. For the last time, in writing anyway, goodbye. I’ll see be seeing you. (Hopefully a long, long time from now as if I see you, say, tomorrow, that probably means that I’m dead and I’m not interested in that at this point 1. because that would be really unfair to these kids of ours and b. because I’m just not ready to die.)

Anyway…

Love you always,

Poopsie