Unexplainable...

Dear Michael,

I miss you.

We participated in Thanksgiving this year as opposed to last year when we just had to avoid all things related to the Holiday. The entire time my mind was racing with thoughts of you. I forced myself to participate.

I prepared a good meal, all the while remembering all of the times you were here for dinner with the family. Conner even commented as he sat down with his plate, with tears welled up in his eyes, "Dad sure would like this food, mom." We just had a quiet moment looking at each other and nodding while everyone else was still filling their own plates.

I miss you.

My mom wanted a real tree for Christmas this year so we drove the farm, everyone loaded into your truck, and searched for the perfect tree. I drove in silence most of the way and cried. Mom sat beside me, patted  me on the leg and said, "I love you," over and over. I found no joy in what should have been a beautiful moment: Mom'a three grandchildren and her two daughters doing the old fashioned Christmas tree hunt. Instead though, I was sad.

I miss you.

I have found that I am SO much more quiet and drained than I ever have been before. I can't explain it to people. The only ones who understand are unfortunately the ones who are part of widowhood themselves. I can't explain the tug at my stomach that literally stays with me as I walk through every day, nauseated with nerves. I can't explain the switch that has been flipped that seriously requires each moment of laughter, each glimmer of a smile, to be forced. I have never had to FORCE myself to smile or laugh or enjoy life's most precious moments. But here I am, forcing just about everything.

I miss you.

I miss your laugh, your light. I miss your hands to hold and your broad shoulders to lean on. I miss your kisses and your compliments. I miss your presence in all things, whether it meant that your were physically home from work or just that I knew you would be coming home from work. The reality always existed that you WOULD be coming home. And now that reality is gone. And that is the most difficult thing to imagine or to try to explain.

Conner told me the other day, while he and I had a snuggle fest in his bed, "Mom, sometimes when I think about Dad, I have to look at a picture because I can't see his face perfect anymore." And he feels guilty about that. He feels guilty that his image of you is beginning to not be as clear as it was two years ago. And it's not that Conner has forgotten what you look like; it's just that enough time has passed that he is scared to death of forgetting what you look like. He's afraid of forgetting your voice. I cannot begin to explain to anyone how much this hurts and literally kills a piece of me.

I miss you... but HE misses you so much more because YOU are missing him growing up.

You are missing these mood swings that sometimes just about push me over the edge. Ugh...12 is SO HARD and I can't imagine what it's like without a dad. Our son literally has NO male influences in his life. Not ones that actually come around. I mean, so many of them SAY they will but then rarely, if ever, actually show up. I can't begin to fathom what goes through Conner's mind when he needs his dad. Anger, disappointment, sorrow, frustration, confusion, isolation, abandonment, fear....so on and so on.

Everyday I carry so much that it is weighing me down and robbing me of my soul's happiness. I am not happy. I am not ok. But I have to fake it every day just to get through. I have a job and bills and a son to raise. My own inner guilt and turmoil of knowing, KNOWING, that I have to move forward, that I cannot give up, that our son needs me more than ever, that I HAVE to be his everything, weighs more heavily on me with every passing day. I've heard so many times it makes me want to puke that "time heals all wounds." I call BS. No it doesn't. In my case, it often feels like time or making things worse for me. And it is unexplainable.

I wish you hadn't left us. I wish you had been happy with our 182 acre farm at Garwood and never brought us to this train wreck I'm in now, alone. I wish you had been happy with a "normal" job and paycheck and hadn't let your gazillion money ideas consume you and what time we should have had with you. I wish fall and winter were not such dreaded times for us now because they used to be our favorites. I wish you hadn't left me so much debt. I wish you hadn't gone to work that day, by that you had rested like I wanted you to. I wish so much, babe.

But more than anything, I wish our little boy's heart wasn't so broken and that mine would begin to heal. Because I have accepted reality, and it sucks, I now know that you're never coming back and that my life will never be the same. But it's so unexplainable to others how this makes us feel every moments of the day.

I miss you.
We miss you.

#stillhis
Love,
Your Wife

An Empty Chair...

Tomorrow for Thanksgiving families and friends will gather for a beautiful meal. Laughter will carry across the dinner rolls and the pie plates. Memories will be made and homes will be filled with love.

For many families during the holidays unfortunately, there will be an empty chair. An empty place setting at the table.

An empty chair sits at our table because Mike is not there. An empty chair means that we look around for him but he is nowhere to be found. 

All that remains is a void, a space where he should be. I'm trying to push this reality from my mind but after I loaded my vehicle down with holiday groceries earlier today, I had a full on breakdown the entire drive home. I haven't had a good "can't breathe, sob out loud, can't see the road" kind of cry in a while. And stupid pecan pie and cinnamon rolls did it.

The day my husband died I made cinnamon rolls. I literally have not been able to eat a cinnamon roll since that day. I had baked them and called Mike to tell him they were done. I asked if he wanted me to bring him some but he had already left the farm. Just a few hours later, when the cinnamon rolls had grown cold, the love of my life died, alone, at our concrete plant, and was found half hanging out of the concrete chute. His legs and hips were exposed but his front end was not visible, as it rested lifeless in the chute.

So cinnamon rolls, the kind from a can  that we can freshly bake on our own, are just one of my nemeses. And then there is pecan pie.

This Thanksgiving staple makes my chest tighten and my breaths become labored. Crazy, right? Mike loved pecan pie and one year it was my mom's duty to provide the sweets. Mike ate that pie and raved about how good it was, offering compliment after compliment to my mom. The evening continued and when he went back for another piece, he complimented again saying , "Good job on the pie, Jackie." To which mom replied, "oh, well I didn't make it...it's Marie Callendar."  Mike laughed so hard! He was like, I complimented her multiple times today and she never came clean until the very end and she literally just forgot she had actually bought it instead of made it!! For the Thanksgivings Mike was still alive after that, he teased my mom always with, "where's that famous pecan pie you make, Jackie?"

Goodness. So two foods that usually fill homes during Thanksgivig and Christmas are two that I just can no longer handle.

But the foods that cause me to go into near convulsive sobs don't hold a light to the empty chair. And it's not just the empty chair during the holidays but literally sometimes I catch myself while sitting in my recliner just looking over at my couch and it's just blank; there is no one there. 

Mike should be sitting right here... My husband, Conner's dad, Chris' son. But it remains empty.

And sure there could be someone in the chair to fill that space, but that chair might end up being empty for the rest of my life because I have set my standards high. Michael set them high, not only with what he did or said, but also with what he didn't do or say. So my standards, my expectations, my bare minimums that I will tolerate and fall in love with, are high. Not because I'm better than anyone by any stretch, but because I deserve good.

I deserve attention and affection. I had those with Michael and because of his attention and affection, I never doubted that my husband loved me in all my flaws.

I deserve honesty and openness. I THOUGHT I always had those with my husband; I have learned that I didn't. Not to the extent I should have. Otherwise, I would not be in probate court; life insurance policies would have all been correct; debt would not have been such an overwhelming surprise.

I deserve commitment and trust and loyalty.  Mike had his infidelities before me but I did not worry about his lack of commitment to me and to our son; however, as the years passed it seemed often that his commitment was directed more toward making money to pay for his business endeavors. And he didn't even know if either of his sons wanted a part of it all, but he committed his life to providing a dream for them and I'm angry about it because that's what killed him. He committed so hard to it that he got us both in so deep, he could never stop. Until it killed him.

I deserve laughter and compliments and love so deep. I deserve happiness and security and longevity. I deserve love unmatched.

That chair might be empty for the next 40 years, I don't know.  But I do know that for now, on the cusp of Thanksgiving and Christmas, and the two year mark, I will look at the empty chair and I will miss all of the good things about my husband that made me fall so hard in love with a dark-haired, dark complected, hard-working, generous man.

Please say a prayer for peaceful hearts and survival for all widows/widowers and their children and families.  Invite a widow to dinner! Open your home and heart to love and kindness and generosity and patience.

Grieving is a terribly difficult journey. Our empty chairs will always be a part of our lives, whether physically or metaphorically. Our loves are gone and we will miss them for the rest of our breaths.

May your home be filled with love and laughter, good food and good company, and may your chairs be filled with people you love.

God bless you all from The Hollis Family.
#stillhis
Love,
Veronica 

An Epic Fail...

WARNING--REALITY of widowhood post ahead. DO NOT comment statements of pity as that is NOT what I am looking for. I just need to vent and I think many people really have no idea the reality of solo life. Especially a young solo life.

Here I sit in my recliner, defeated and angry once again. I feel like I am DONE right now. D.O.N.E.

I am a mom.
My son is healthy and ornery and drives me insane but is my best blessing of all. I prayed for him. For years I prayed for the chance to be a mom. Yes, my son sometimes sends me into moments of near rage, but I would not be able to live one day without him.

I am a principal.
I have worked hard for my degrees and have had success in the education field. I have worked hard at any job I've held since I was 13 years old. I've always worked hard.

I am a widow.
A WIDOW. Wow. Not a role for which I bargained and often time I feel that I am an EPIC FAIL.

I did NOT pray for this title.
I did NOT work hard to earn it.

And I'm stuck with it!

Today I am drained. Physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually drained.

I started with an idea of what I was going to accomplish today, starting with building a dog kennel since our dog has begun wandering to the neighbors. I hate having to keep her tied so I decided she needs a pen.

Last weekend while Conner and I were riding around the farm, we stumbled upon a pile of things and found pieces for a chain link pen. What the heck?!?! I literally didn't even know we had one...or excuse me, that Michael had one. Angry at first that there was yet another thing I didn't know until after my husband died, I decided to push the anger at Michael to the side and put my newly found dog pen to good use. Not having to spend the money on a new pen was a relief.

I decided today that I would build it. I gathered, with Conner's help, the six pieces of chain link pen, fence posts to secure corners to, fence post driver which weighs a ton, wire to attach to fence posts, sledge hammer, regular hammer, and tin to cover a portion of the pen. A woman on a mission!

I loaded everything into the bed of the truck and began to unload at a spot in the yard where I could actually envision the pen and how well it would serve our dog Molly. I began working. Yep, I was gonna do it. It would be so cool to show people I did it myself.

I drove one fence post and began hammering the ends of the first piece of the chain link pen into the ground and things began to go wrong. And things continued to go wrong. I failed. I dropped everything and went to sit and cry.

I began messaging people asking for help. They all have lives and chores and jobs and families and no time for me and my ridiculous problems today. And I do not begrudge a single one of them for this!!! As a matter of fact, I am so incredibly happy that my friends have what I had almost two years ago.

My friends are such amazing people. They spend time with their children. They spend time with their spouses. They go to birthday parties and baby showers; they go watch movies together as a family; they are happily busy living their lives. Please know that I am so proud of each of you. You, the dear friends to whom I reached out today, are living the dream...my dream: a busy, happy, whole family. A husband, wife, and child(ten). I love you all...so I apologize for asking for help like I did today, but then declining invitations at other times.

I avoid birthday parties and baby showers. I am so sorry to all of you who have invited us over the past two years to your moments of celebration. But I just can't. I've tried, and I have found that I'm so focused on the absence of my husband and I look at our son and know that is exactly what he's thinking as well that I end up in tears or have to leave quickly so that I can cry on the drive home. I know that we have turned down dinner invitations or movie invitations. We have turned down just coming over to hang out.

I have also avoided attending church services often. I have such mixed emotions when I attend church and I cry, sometimes uncontrollably, every visit. I love The Lord and feel incredibly blessed and grateful for all He has given to me and to our son. But I am also sometimes so angry and sad, and sometimes it's over stupid little things like the epic fail of preparing a dog pen, that I cannot face The Lord. I feel guilty for being angry. And also we avoid it sometimes for the looks. We avoid everything and everyone sometimes because of the looks. And don't get me wrong, I know that the people who love us and care for us are only concerned for us and see that I am a different person than before. The looks mean genuine concern and I know that, BUT still it makes me feel like my absolute despair shows so loudly on my face, and I HATE that this is who I am now.

I am so incredibly sorry. But know that when I reply "I'm not feeling well", or "Conner isn't feeling well," I'm not lying. Depression, the bone aching kind, has settled into me and I can't seem to shake it off. I try. Believe me I try. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day I try.

But some days, and today is one of those days, I can't. I'm done. I can't face people or pretend one second of today. I pretend all day most days and sometimes the pretending ends up bringing me genuine laughter and genuine smiles. But many more times it is still just all forced.

So today I reached out for help again because I am an EPIC FAIL as a solo ANYTHING (and for sure as a dog pen builder) and I ended up realizing I owe so many of my family and friends an apology. To some I'm sure it seems like the only time I reach out is when I need something. I HATE being THAT person. I'm sorry. I truly am. I am grateful to each of you, whether all of our memories are old or we still try to make new ones when we have time. A few of you are still the diehard amazing people who text me regularly to check on us. Please know I want to return with all of my heart, I really do. I'm still trying and I still need your love, support, and prayers. I promise I won't be an EPIC FAIL at friendship and family, or at love and happiness forever.

I just still miss my husband and love and happiness and holding a handsome man's hand. I'm just still really sad.

Love,
Veronica

No Weapon Shall Form Against Me...

Boy, do I have lots to say tonight.  Thank God He has a hold of my tongue and I will try to "vent" in the most Christian of ways possible.

There are some snakes in the grass during widowhood and I have HAD MY FILL of them all.

I want to ask you a few questions and I really want you to consider the questions a while.  Think from MY perspective...a WIDOW'S perspective...a SOLO MOM'S perspective.

How evil can someone be to try and cause harm to a widow and her son?  I mean, it really takes moxie to try daily to cause harm to another person.  It takes even more moxie to do so to a woman who is trying her best to keep her head above water, between the depths of grief and the depths of debt left on her shoulders.  And I don't mean physical harm; I mean financial, emotional, whatever. I guess that grief is supposed to end pretty quickly and no one should ever consider the utter sadness still being felt.  I mean, we should be over it by now, right?  Wrong.
 
How about someone's lowness to stand on the sidelines only to watch and "tattle" when they think something "fishy" is going on?  I love how some people think they know my son's and my business and are not the kind of neighbors I would ever want in my life.  Poke a bear. Fuel a fire.  Whatever idiom you want to use, some people do this all the time just to send someone my way who will cause me trouble. And why?  What is gained?  Is this really the Christian way?  Is this really what God is leading you to do?  Ummm...no...it isn't.

How cruel can someone be to simply "forget" that my son exists?  Forget to actually SHOW UP for him?  Forget to call and talk with him about his day, his week, his MONTHS since the last time?
How about forgetting that Conner has NO male influence in his life and might need one and that you should actually step up to the plate and BE A MAN????  Or how about not forgetting...just NOT DOING.  Plainly remembering and offering HOPE to Coner, but never following through. Conner and I have heard WAY TOO MANY empty promises the last almost two years. Way too many.

But here is the deal.

No matter how much they try...no matter how much they love to see my suffering and my son's suffering...their game is nothing compared to God's game.  HE has game; they don't.  I am guessing that I am not the first widow to experience this kind of behavior from outsiders.  It makes us fighting mad.  It makes us angry beyond all measure of the word; it makes us want to shed the wrath of widowhood upon all of them.  I cannot tell you how many times I have ALMOST picked up the phone, dialed a few numbers I have and let loose.  But what will that accomplish?  Nothing but putting myself as low as they are.  And I shan't do that. Here is what I will do instead: pray.

I have had a beautiful day with my son and his friend Evan.  I had a beautiful day with my sister, niece, and her boyfriend yesterday.  My life is beautiful even with all its scars and pain. I have prayed many thanks to God for these kind of beautiful days for my family.

My life is filled with plenty of people who DO love us and would never cause us harm or say mean and hurtful things.  I am blessed with co-workers and staff who appreciate my efforts on a daily basis and who respect me for those efforts.  I thank God for the job opportunity I was blessed with after Mike passed away.  I am blessed with friends who text me every so often just to say hi and they hope I'm doing well.  I am blessed with prayers from all across the community.

I am blessed with treasures above all treasures: a son who makes up the best parts of Mike and me and forgiveness from my Father.  And trust me, I have needed plenty of forgiveness my whole life, but an exponentially greater amount since widowhood began.

I have a home that I love, but even if I did not have this home anymore, I will always have HOME because wherever my son and I are...that is HOME.

My mother-in-law has told me from the beginning of losing Mike that, "No weapon formed against you shall prosper, Veronica, that is in The Bible and I believe it."  She has been praying that for me since we learned I was going to have to battle for anything because Mike didn't have much of our property titled properly.  I have been in probate court more times than I can count and I am STILL battling.

God has held my shoulders up all these months.  Some days honest to goodness, I am barely standing. I am not saying that to receive sympathy...I don't want it.

I DO want empathy...understanding...patience...love...support...prayers...kindness...time for my son...time for me...dinner together...movie nights...texts to lift my spirits...offers that actually turn to action...no more empty promises...scriptures of encouragement...more prayers...help with things I don't want to ask for, like yard work (sorry Amy that your husband is always chosen for this task...;)...space...time...more prayers...

So, they can go ahead with their evil plots.  What will be will be.  I lost my husband, my best friend, the love of my life.  My son lost his dad, his hero above all heroes, the man he actually CHOSE to be with whenever he had the chance.  What more can they do to us; what more can we lose?  Whatever it may be will not tear us down.  We have stood in the depths of hell on Earth and are still on the fringes of it on any given day.  So, bring it.  God's game is strong.  No weapon they have will prosper against me or my son.

Keep loving, people.  Love all that you can while you can. Spread love and kindness and grace.

I am probably burning some bridges with this post.  I should have set them on fire a long time ago.

Widow Thinking...

I'm not sure about other widows, but I sometimes get in this thought pattern that is not healthy. I call it Widow Thinking. It's similar to Widow Brain (the forgetfulness and confusion that comes with this life), but worse. Widow Thinking brings the negative thoughts to the forefront, regardless how much I try to push it back down.

Yesterday kicked my tail and brought the Widow Thinking around after what had been a beautiful morning and afternoon spent in church. It doesn't make sense how Widow Thinking will just come out of nowhere and take over; it will ruin a perfectly beautiful day.

My dad just randomly showed up at our house while Conner and I were watching tv together. I haven't seen my dad in a while and was surprised to see him through the window but it was a pleasant surprise. I asked if he had time to take Conner bow-hunting and so they left soon after Dad arrived.

The house was quiet and I got in a little tv time to myself. Then Conner called because he had shot at a deer and tried to call my dad but there was no answer. I was about to start dinner but Conner needed help tracking his deer, so I pulled on my boots and headed his direction. I guess the first thing that set the Widow Thinking into action was seeing the soon-to-be new owner of most of the farm. I didn't know he was anywhere on the farm and there he was on a tractor, bushhogging the field.

I immediately became angry. I immediately felt cheated. I immediately felt guilt. I immediately felt failure. I immediately felt a gut-wrenching, aching sadness for the absence of my husband.

But as usual, I clenched my jaw and gritted my teeth as I slowed the four wheeler beside the tractor. After a minute of letting him know that Conner was hunting (the noise of the tractor would have spoiled any hunting had Conner still been in his stand), I drove toward my son's hunting spot, which isn't even his own stand. He has been using his brother's stand and we are reminded of that every conversation they have about it. I literally have forgotten a million times (Widow Brain) that it is a stand Mike and I bought Tristan some years back for Christmas. I need to buy Conner his own. That makes me angry; Mike should have bought Conner one too. Oh but that's right, he died instead.

So anyway, Conner and I began our walk through the woods and soon my dad arrived. I explained to Dad what Conner had explained to me and then on my walk back to the four wheeler, I turned to look behind me and saw two men standing by thw tractor. Neither was my husband. And that is overwhelming.

I raced home on the four wheeler, leaving Conner and my dad to track the deer, to start cooking dinner. Conner had requested deer meat from last year'a harvest. I had a good cry while at the house by myself but then Dad and Conner arrived (no deer was found). Dad began asking how things were going and I literally fell apart. It was one of those can't breathe, can't stand on my own kind of cries. My dad held me up and I let loose what I've been holding in for so long.

You see, I try my best every single day to be "strong". That's what people expect. That's what makes society feel comfortable. That's what keeps people from thinking they need to send me to an asylum. I have to be strong. For my son, for my students and staff, for my family and friends, for everyone and everything. I have so much responsibility riding on my shoulders that I don't have the time to cry. I don't have the time to stop the busyness of life or the business of life and have a complete breakdown. But sometimes against all of my own will, Widow Thinking comes in and takes over. And it doesn't matter what else is going on outside of myself, I lose control.

Widow Thinking brings guilt. I feel guilty for having to sell most of the farm. Widow Thinking brings failure. I feel like I am failing my husband exponentially by not being able to keep the 1200 acre farm (his lifelong dream) running myself. Widow Thinking brings anger. There isn't enough Internet space to list all that makes me angry anymore. Widow Thinking brings sadness unexplainable; loneliness unfathomable; longing unimaginable. And I live with Widow Thinking every single day. I just can't act like it.

No one understands unless he or she is living it. We can't explain it or will it to go away. So have patience; hug us when we have our breakdowns; listen as we rant; tell us you're so sorry. Don't tell us what you think will fix it for us; don't look at us like we're crazy; don't walk away because you aren't strong enough to handle seeing us like this. It is a part of us.

Be gentle and kind today. You never know what internal battle is being fought behind the smile.

I LOVE and miss you more than words, baby. NFAxI...
#stillhis
Love,
Veronica

A Different World...

Early morning cups of coffee, 

sitting one love across from the other.  

Feet touching on the edges of the couches

where they meet in the corner.

Moments of conversation and sideways grins

while sips of warm black liquid are taken.

A hand reaching over to touch the other

ever so gently and warmly.

A cute giggle out of such a burly

man when something funny is said.

Whispers into the pillow late at night

while the rest of the world sleeps.

Moments of silence between two souls who

look deep into the other's eyes.

Understanding of a love like no other when

not one word has to be spoken to know.

Youth fading into middle-age, wrinkles and 

extra pounds coming.

But loving just as much as the day they first met

over a phone call on an October evening.

Date nights spent staring into each other's eyes

as much as the teenagers around them.

Midnight snuggles on cold winter nights

when they should be sleeping instead.

Long talks of dreams and plans as cows graze 

in the fields below and the trees dance.

Plans and hopes and promises made to withstand

all tests of time.

A head gently tilted to rest on a strong shoulder

that makes her feel safe every day.

They were in love.

She was safe.

They had each other.

Her son had a daddy.

Her heart had its other half.

Life was complete.  

The world was as it should be.

It's a Different World...

Early morning cups of coffee taken alone

while she stares at his picture and flag on the mantle.

Feet curled in under the blanket while she feels

cold in the loneliness of her home.

Silence remains, and speaks stronger than any 

giggle or conversation they used to share.

Her hand is alone, empty of his, her wedding ring

changed sizes and fingers, but on the same hand.

A tear instead of a giggle, at the memory of 

something funny he used to say.

Whispers into the pillow late at night,

begging for peace and mercy from God.

Her eyes stay closed as she squeezes them tight

trying to block out the pain that keeps her awake.

She still knows there will never be a love

like theirs was.

Her youth is still fading and she feels more aged,

more wrinkled, and weary and heavy-laden.

And she loves him still just as much as she did

on that phone call one October evening.

Date nights are now just her and their son,

watching dads and kids and trying not to.

Midnight wakings because she dreams of him,

when she should be sleeping.

She doesn't talk about dreams anymore

knowing it will do her no good. 

She is afraid to have any kind of hopes or dreams

anymore; she can't let go of the old ones.

She misses his shoulder to lean on, she misses

feeling safe and protected.

She is still in love with a ghost.

She doesn't feel safe anymore.

She has no one who understands. 

No one to talk to.

Laugh with.

Love with.

Hold onto.

Promise the world to.

Her son struggles daily.

And she can't fix it.

She can't take it all back.

She can't carry it alone.

But she has to.

So she prays.

and she prays...

and she prays...

And she is grateful.

Grateful to friends.

To family.

But she is still alone.

At the end of the day.

When she climbs into bed.

When she picks up the phone to dial.

She is alone.

Her other half is gone.

Her best friend is gone.

Her knight in shining armor is gone.

And so is her heart.

Please don't ever judge a widow or widower, or a child without a parent.  I have a friend who was widowed several years ago.  I apologized to her tonight for not being there for her in her early days all those years ago.  I never understood all the thoughts and demons she has fought all these years. Not until they became my constant companions as well.  

I miss him.  More than my family can understand.  More than my friends and co-workers can understand. More than even I can understand at times.  

Life has to move forward, but no one realizes how truly difficult it is to accept that truth.  

I just miss him.  So. Much.  

I will now, forever, and always be #stillhis...

I love you and miss you baby.  I hope you feel my love all the way to Heaven.

Our Boy...

Several months ago I asked Conner if he wanted to start a "mom and me" journal to help with his grief. The idea was for us to keep a simple spiral notebook and I started with writing a note to him. He would read it, and when he was ready whether it was from having a bad day or a good day, he would then write me back. 

My first note to him was six months ago. Two nights ago he brought me the notebook. 

I cried. Like a baby. And I held our son close and tight for a few minutes as we stood in the kitchen. We cried together. 

Our son misses out on so much. Yesterday Mike's cousin Bert came over to teach Conner how to sharpen a pocket knife using a whetstone. They sat beside each other on our dining room bench, and I sat across from them just watching in silence. I held back tears and swallowed hard to keep the lump inside my throat under control. I love Bert, but it should be Mike beside Conner teaching him how to sharpen knives. 

Then Bert asked Conner where Mike's knife was that he had gotten from Grandpa Norman and I realized again that there are so many stories Conner will never get to hear. There are so many stories Conner will never get to tell. And that's so beyond unfair. 

I worry everyday about how I'm raising our son on my own. I worry about failure, about screwing him up for life. I worry about relationships he will have and how he will so desperately want to talk to his dad about it instead of to me. I will listen. I will talk. I will trust and tell the truth. But I still won't be his dad. 

I think about our son's future and how many things he will endlessly long for his dad to experience with him. 

I think about all the things that I will endlessly long for Mike to share with me. I think about Conner's first driving experience on the highway and not gravel or through the fields. I think about his first "real" girlfriend and his first kiss. I think about his first home run hit out of the park, his first prom, his graduation, his goals after high school. But I also think of all the little things every single day that Conner misses his dad for. 

Special nights when Mike used to share a pallet in the floor with the boys. The simple "how was your day, buddy," that Conner never gets to hear. All the bucks he will harvest, his first bow kill, and just the overall hunting experience. He only got to share a few of those before his dad was taken from us. So much more is missed every minute of every day. 

And I'm just a mom. I'm just a widow. I'm just a woman. I'm trying my best to raise him right and I'm trying my best to maintain some positivity in our otherwise grim situation. I still worry. I still fail. I still cry and show weakness in front of him. 

Our son is the absolute best thing to ever happen to me and as you can read in his journal to me, God is helping me every step of the way. Mike and I sure made a pretty cool kid. Maybe I'm doing something right all by myself after all. 

I love you, son, with every fiber of my being. And even though some days I want to knock you for a loop, you are MY rock too. You make momma and daddy proud beyond measure.