Dear Jordan

This is how I picture you in Heaven.

Sunshine. Toes in the sand. Cold beverage within reach. Blink-182 playing in the background.

In reality, you were bursting at the seams with joy after your first, and only, swim in the ocean during our honeymoon in Kauai. You were determined to go for a dip despite the unexpected cool and cloudy conditions that lingered our entire trip. I was unimpressed but you were never more at peace. 

We embraced “island time” and gave little mind to keeping a schedule. Very unlike us, especially me. We drove through the winding roads of the island mesmerized by the ever-changing ecosystems within mere seconds of one another. I can’t recall another time driving 30 mph was so enjoyable. 

One of our first outings included a trip to the beach. We lounged in the sand with our rain jackets and new hiking shoes, fully embracing our tourist personas, watching local surfers catch waves in the treacherous water. You could’ve sat there all day memorizing their techniques and timing. Your mind always analyzing and yearning to learn something new. 

As often referenced, grief is much like the turbulent waves we witnessed on the beach. There are times I see these “waves” coming in like a freight train and have time to mentally prepare. Somehow, these have been easier to navigate than the unpredictable undercurrent of grief woven into every day moments. 

Filing taxes. Oil changes. Shoveling snow. 

These seemingly minor annoyances in life can bring me to my knees. I’ve always considered myself a fairly independent person. I’d like to think it is something you admired about me. Admittedly, we both were and that’s why I spent many painstaking hours trying to figure out your passwords when you died. I mean… we were married. Did you have access to the nuclear codes? I’ve got some follow up questions.

Back to my current problems. I had no reservations about letting you, and let’s be realistic, encouraging you to take care of things that didn’t interest me. It felt mutual. We will say it was! Losing you, my person, has been paralyzing. It has rocked my confidence and made me question my capabilities in everything. It’s unsettling and gut-wrenching because you were home and provided a feeling of safety that I never understood until it was stripped away. Missing you is exhausting. It’s hard to catch my breath. Some days I think I never will.

But, I know you can see all of this. You’re rooting for me. I’ll rally, I always do. Grief will win out less over time. But for now, I’m riding the waves as they come and embracing the glimpses of sunshine. Just as you did on our trip. Well played Jordan, you were always a teacher at heart.