Earlier this
week I was putting together tax documents.
It is that time of the year. I
found an amazing tax advisor that will help me navigate what I need for 2016 –
a year in which I went from married to widowed, sold a house, bought a house,
moved from one state to another, saw the end of regular earnings, and received
a barrage of government benefits. It’s a
huge mess to navigate – and I am thankful I have someone to do that for
me. But in explaining how I would file
she said, “This will be the last year you file as ‘married, filing jointly.’” The last time. I know she meant well but those words stung.
As I was
going through my computer files to gather tax forms and financial documents, I
forgot I had scanned and kept a copy of Ryan’s last letter to me in my computer
documents (as a back-up in case anything should ever happen to the
original). So I was flipping through
documents and Ryan’s letter unexpectedly pops up on my screen. I had not read it for probably six months
now. I had read it over and over and
over again the first month after Ryan died, grasping to it like I could somehow
hear his voice or understand what happened or even bring him back. Then I tucked the letter away, because it was
too painful and haven’t looked at it since.
Now, over half a year later (yes, it has really been that long) the
letter pops up and I find myself re-reading it.
And I see his letter in a whole different light now. A few quotes from his letter: “I don’t want
you to be alone. I would give anything
to hold you one last time.” “I love
you. I know I say it a lot. I have always meant it. As time went on, it just grew deeper and
deeper. It was enough to make me hold on
for a lot longer than I would have otherwise.”
“I have loved and cherished our life together. I just wish the rest of my life had even a
tenth of the appeal and contentment as I feel on my way home to you every day.” Every time I read those words, I cry. I am sobbing uncontrollably right now as I
type this.
As I re-read
Ryan’s letter now, after almost eight months of healing, I see Ryan’s
perspective differently though. I am not
going to share a majority of his words here on a public blog, but I now realize
Ryan knew for a while that he could not go on living. And as he made plans, he went out of his way
to say things to me to make sure I knew I was loved and to comfort me in the
only way he could. He planned everything
so that I was with family when it happened, that I would be cared for. He even shook my dad’s hand the last time he
saw him and said, “take care of my family for me.” At the time, we had thought that meant for
the week and a half while he was away, we did not have any way of knowing he meant
it forever. Ryan hid his deepest pain,
his internal struggle, and when he had absolutely nothing left, he still found
a way to give to me and comfort me, with his last words. His letter to me was the last one he wrote,
with what he had left, loving me and caring for me. I grieve in a whole new way because that
person in which I was his world – and he was mine – is gone. How lonely it is to know that kind of love
and companionship – and to lose it. It
has dawned on me that no one currently on this planet knows me like Ryan
did. Others may know me well, close friends know a lot, some people may
even get to know me to that level in the future – but right now, in this
moment, the one person who made it a priority to put me first and learn all
about me for 15 years is gone. That reality hit me like a ton of bricks,
in the midst of my sorrow and sickness this past week.
But another
reality hit me too. I hesitate to even
begin to process these thoughts onto “paper,” but I am going to attempt to anyway. I want that companionship again. I know I will not see Ryan again on this side
of heaven, but recently I began to pray that God prepare my heart for that
unconditional love again someday. In His
timing. In His perfect timing. Ryan and I used to joke about how when we
were both really old and our kids would try to put us away in nursing homes, we
would escape together. That we’d probably
end up driving off a cliff or something, because we would be so old. But that we would die together. It was our “plan.” But a month or so before Ryan’s death, our silly old
age plan came up, as we occasionally joked about over the years, and Ryan said
something about if anything ever happened to him, he would want me to find
someone else and be happy. And I got mad
at him – because that was NOT the plan.
I wasn’t REALLY mad at him, just that “play-mad” where I told him that
was ridiculous, we were going to die together, escaping the nursing home, end
of story. That had always been OUR plan
and we were sticking to it, because I would not want life without him. I don’t know why that conversation pops in my
head now, but I can see it clear as day and in hindsight, he was telling me then
that it was okay to live my life.
Another quote from his last letter is, “Please do not stop living your
life. Yes, focus on things that need
doing right now. Get the kids into a new
routine. But eventually, live for
yourself as well.” I am understanding
that Ryan knew for quite a while longer than I realized that he was not long on
this earth and he was slowly preparing me and comforting me, as that unhealthy reality
grew in his head. And, oh, how I wish I
could just go back and shake him and fix him and drive those enemy-given lies
from his head!!! I would give anything to go back and stop him. To have known and prevented his death. But I cannot. I cannot go back. And since I cannot, I sit
in awe of Ryan’s strength and love. That
he would find a way to put me first, when he himself was in the worst pain of
his life. I love him with all my
heart. I always will. And I want everyone I know and care about to
know how much I love them. I do not want
to be stingy with my love. I want to be
an open book, letting God’s love flow right through and out onto everyone I
know. Kind of like Ryan showed me while
he was alive – and I know he still does from heaven.
And as I
started to say earlier, I hesitate to put these thoughts into words, but I want
that love and companionship again, here on earth. I
pray that it be God's will to place that one person who makes it their goal to know me better
than I even know myself and vice versa into my life, that person who sits with
me when I am sick and shares their day with me and allows me care for them and
prays with me and lets me love them with every bit of love that God has given
me. I think seeing Ryan’s example of
unconditional and unending love somehow makes me a stronger person, a person
who does not take one second of life for granted. I have never had the personality to be
alone. When I was lonely, God gave me
Ryan. I married young (Ryan and I were
just babies when we got married) and I LOVED every moment of it. We grew together and learned about
unconditional love together. And then
somehow in these past few months I have learned even more about what God’s love looks like in action. And I want to share it. In my loneliness, I pray that God use me to
pour out His love to others. And that He
provide me the companionship, in a different way and in His way, that I so
desperately miss. In HIS timing, whether
that is next week or ten years from now, it is my brave prayer.
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