Dear Rich

 So, it has been just over a year now and sometimes I wonder how you would like/dislike the changes I've done around here.

The old busted up eyesore of the garage that we often discussed is gone. I mean. Gone, no trace. And yup I had to spend some $$ to clean things up. I think you would think it looks great. Remember when the insurance company gave you money for the damaged garage? You put it in a savings account for 'later'. Well, it sat in an account getting interest for 14 years. I used a part of that to clean up the garage. 

I now have a nice concrete pad to look at. Beyond that, the forest. So much prettier than a semi demolished building.

Your mom's car became a Demo Derby Car. It was painted shiny black and reinforced. I can only imagine your mom giggling over her car blasting around in a field and the glee she would have had driving it like a maniac. After all, she did that in real life didn't she?

Your skid steer went to a good home. Frank bought it and is super pleased with it. He knows mechanical stuff and I don't. 

Uh oh. I adopted a puppy in March. Her name is Hannah and she is the goofiest Terrier mix I've ever seen. She is sweet, adorable, personable, a pain, and very loving, terribly loyal and not too brave. However, you'd really get a kick out of how she hunts bugs. Tonight she brought a grasshopper into the house and played with it. Gross.

You would love her because she is so unique and weird just like me. It took Charlie from March to September to decide that Hannah was okay to snuggle with at night. I swear, he is still looking for you. I took one of your old insulated flannels to wear for chores yesterday and it smelled like you. When I tossed it on the couch, he instantly claimed it and made a bed out of it.

The one section of forest where you had your old deer stand was forest mulched this spring. It wasn't pricey but it sure improved that area. I made it a campground. You would love it. I often think of you while sitting there and having a campfire at night with Charlie and Hannah. 

I've learned to set up a tent! 

I love camping in the rough. It is a bit different than the nights we spent sleeping in the back of your truck or the camper you had on the truck. But it is like you often said: It is all about the adventure of it. 

Because of you, I am not afraid of the forest/woods day or night. I learned so much from you as your dog handler when farmers would ask us to bring our hounds to their places to hunt raccoon who were destroying their crops. You gave me 'forest' smarts, you gave me knowledge, you showed me the gift of becoming an outdoors person.

You encouraged me always to make my own way and not to fear learning new things. I will always be grateful for that.

It's quiet here. I don't often watch the 'boob' tube, but I am rewatching some of the shows we used to watch together. 

I painted all the old chairs I collected over the years. I know you thought I was nuts for wanting to paint them, but they brighten the inside of our home.

Tom, the UPS driver, stopped in for a chat yesterday and commented on how he missed coming to our house to deliver your meds. We had a good laugh over how you called him 'your drug dealer'. He is doing well. I told him that I was taking a tiny bit of your ashes everywhere I went and IF I found an incredible place that I know you would have loved...I'd spread a bit of you. He thought that was the coolest idea he'd ever heard.

Hey maybe we will get to Hawaii one of these times! 

I'm still crazy over photography, mules, riding, Legos, and hiking. But that wouldn't surprise you at all.

I get down in the dumps once in a while, but that is good. I miss you like crazy and that is good. I have sad moments that hit me like a ton of bricks. And that is good.

But I also feel your presence almost all of the time. 

And that my dear, is excellent.

I never thought

I'd be one of those who would be effected by dates and anniversaries. I thought for sure I would easily deal with all of that stuff after losing Rich.

Huh. 

I am not.
His birthday is coming up and I can't stop thinking about it. 

We hardly gave it a thought when he was alive. I'd usually make something he'd requested for supper.

You know.

Steak and 'Tators. It was easy. 

Now this whole week feels focused on Saturday. I can't stop letting the date run through my mind.

When he was well, we'd go riding to hunt for interesting stuff we could find in the woods.

He was born on April 11th. 

He was drafted on May 11th. 

He died on September 11th. So each month I am reminded on the 11th. 

Saturday marks another 11th.

So this whole week I am really struggling. Because his birthday is coming up. Except it isn't his birthday any more. He won't have any more Holidays and birthdays with me. 

I thought I'd be okay. I really did. But there is that stupid 11 on the calendar, and this year, I will put a cupcake on the table for him and light a candle. 

I'll do this alone and I'll think about him.

 

I sure miss that goofy guy.

His laugh was infectious as it was loud and pleasant.

So yeah.

Here I am waiting on the 11th of April to honor him quietly in some way.

Always and forever in my heart.

I promise...

          I promise not to be sad every day that I can't talk with you. Every time I go hiking I notice things that we'd talk about when I got home.

Even when you were quite ill, you'd smile and ask me "How was your walk? What did you see?" Or "What did you do at the gym, how was your work out?"

We'd laugh together about my version of events while working out or hiking. 

Things like tripping on a rock and sitting on the ground and seeing something so beautiful that the rock must have said Trip Val! 

Make her see this amazing clump of tiny mushrooms hiding just off the trail.

The times I outran 'kids' 25 years younger than me while doing a gym workout. I'd come home and share that with you and you were so tickled. You'd laugh that deep loud laugh and slap your knee.

You'd wink at me and ask for more details.

I recall the trip I took to Hawaii as a chaperon for my 82 yr old father. I'd come back from taking Dad somewhere and the hotel desk told me to call home, it was urgent.

I called wondering what was wrong. You finally told me that you were standing by the wash machine and you didn't know how to run it. Hilariously, you ran out of clean jeans. I stood on a balcony overlooking the Pacific and gave you instructions on how to do laundry. 

Everyone thought that was such a funny and such a YOU story. The man who couldn't wash dishes or do laundry on his own.

Every time I walked out the door to go to work you were there. Every time I came home, you greeted me as enthusiastically as our dog did..

"How was your day? How was your shift? How was your walk? How was your ride?"

I never tired of telling you. You never stopped listening. 

So today I came home to Charlie and spoke to you even though you physically were not here.

I told you about my class, about shopping, and about everything I could think of. 

I held your picture and relayed all the things you needed to know. I even asked your opinion on what was for supper. I joked that you wouldn't like the broccoli and cauliflower but I was making it anyway.

They might send me to the nuthouse one day if anyone knows how often I talk to you. Charlie is a good listener, but he tends to get distracted easily.

Today was okay. I miss you. I'm glad we agreed that you wouldn't eat broccoli and cauliflower with your chicken. More for me.

See yah.