Happy Anniversary February 23, 2002

Have you ever felt your hear break? It’s like a vacuum. It is the heaviest and emptiest feeling put together. I loved him. I wasn’t always perfect, but I loved him. I can be opinionated and moody. But, why? Why this? Did he think I deserve it? Did he hate me that much? Or did he think? My life has centered around him. All my thoughts are accented with what would he think about this? What is my center now? I’m not the first wife to have this happen. But the day before your anniversary? I want to run away from this, but I know that a change of scenery will not cause history to change. If you want to undo 8 years as fast a possible you do what he did, what I heard, what I saw. I lay in our bed alone last night; I wanted to just hold his hand while I fell asleep one more time. It’s like a death, sudden, unfair, and ruthless. The thought of it follows you every where but sleep. Sleep is its own cruelty, in turn, by letting you dream it’s different and waking up to remember again. I will get through, me and Cole. I can’t let him see me cry like this; even thought part of it is for him. Dad’s not there to read his book, put him to bed, ask us “mommy I love you, Daddy I love you. Mommy do you love Daddy? Daddy do you love Mommy?” What will Jason tell him? I will miss my husband, my friend, our family, our life, more than you know. But how can I live with him after this?