Not-so-random thoughts on random topics: A Letter to My Husband

I debated for the past 48 hours whether to publish something as personal as a letter to my husband on my blog. After a lovely dinner at my friends Andy and Melinda's home last night, I got an answer. My blog has always been an extension of me. My writing mimics me. I am open, expressive, warm, vulnerable, loving, a person with gratitude and integrity. These characters are exactly why this blog exists. My writing will always be my mirror. Expressing love and gratitude through my writing, regardless of the intended recipient, is always honorable.

I feel strangely strong and confident. It is beyond the "return" of strength; it is new strength that creates possibilities. It is new strength that will carry me through this phase of my life with purpose and grace, and playfulness.

I am not fearless, nor am I invincible. I am purposeful.

My new strength prompted me to write this letter to my husband, Eric Gilman.

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Dearest Booh,

Two months ago I decided it was time to start organizing your personal belongings. I call it the Release. I began releasing, what I consider, some of your most prized possessions. Prized, not because of their monetary value, but the deep connection I feel in them. Your iPhone; your Yellow Warrior Bike; your blue winter knit hat; and your collection of Patagonia jackets.

The thoughtful and methodical release of these items to a select, special few is one of the most positive and definitive steps forward for my healing. My rebirth.

Your death put me in the worst possible bone-breaking vortex. But as you had predicted, I refused to give up, or give in. As you had predicted, I emerge. What I went through with you in the last near 13 years, but especially the last eight months - your death - may be more than what an "average" person would ever experience in a life time. I am grateful for every event, every laughter, every tear shed with you and for you. I am who I am, and the mere fact that I refuse to give up or give in, is a direct result of what we had been through. Facing the wind. Together.

You showed up in my life for very specific purposes, and made the most profound impacts on me. Without a doubt, I was the same for you.

I released a few jackets to Scobie. He wore them with pride, love, gratitude. I couldn't think of a more deserving and loving human being to wear your red fleece, one of my favorites. I wanted so much to keep it, but I will always be held prisoner by it. By you. I will always try to seek you, seek myself, in the fleece. I am no prisoner of anyone; not even you.

I still don't know whether to call you my husband, or my late-husband. On one hand, it's just words. On the other, words matter. It seems trivial, but I still need to decide.

I miss you. I think of you. All the time. I want to trace and touch your face. I want you to hold my right hand when I go to sleep, like you had always done. Every night. Your blue knit hat seems to be losing your smell; that infuriates me. Yet, I must release you now, bit by bit. So that you release me. So that I can still live my best life. So that I can be the best possible connector that makes positive impacts to lives around me. So that I may laugh and love: Freely. Fearlessly. Fully.

I love you. Without bounds. Always and always. Now GO.