Dear Jordan

Indecision runs my life these days. Which zip code, school district, and neighborhood is the right one for Delia and I? These are a few of the questions I ponder during the quiet moments of my day. How am I supposed to plan for the future that I never anticipated? There are so many choices, and as my grief counselor continues to remind me, there is a chance I may not make the RIGHT one. Apparently, mistakes are allowed and flexibility is required. Absolutely wild. Who knew?

I yearn for simpler times. For the silly arguments that ensued after the simple question, “What should we watch tonight,” was posed. Where I could navigate the decision making process without feeling completely paralyzed by the potential consequences. How can I make such important life choices without consulting you? I’ve been kindly reminded I cannot live in fear of disappointing you. While I know this to be true, I continue to push my sanity to the breaking point in desperation of earning your approval. Where is my logical and composed other half when I need a pep talk?

So many questions with no answers. You always had answers. If you didn’t it wasn’t long until you educated yourself to make an informed decision. You exuded a quiet confidence and unshakable calm with everything. I repeat EVERYTHING. I always envied and appreciated that about you. Of course I couldn’t tell you that too often. Someone had to keep you humble. If you wanted to stop by one of my dreams and provide some guidance I wouldn’t be upset. Just something to consider.

On numerous occasions, I called you while at work and Megan cackled in the background at how unreactive you were to my best attempts to rattle you. Even with my flair for the dramatic, you remained unfazed. One of the last attempts before you died was a phone call to convince you I needed an additional dining room table, an alternate if you will, and I couldn’t wait for you to call me crazy. Of course you didn’t. You indulged my outrageous request and luckily Facebook marketplace sellers are not always reliable.

A large part of my grief journey has been one of self-discovery. I know, I just puked in my mouth a little too. It’s been forced and completely necessary. My identity went from “we” to “me” in an hour I’d never wish upon anyone and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to reconcile it. Life is anything but fair. Is it that I’ve always lacked confidence in myself or is this just another “fun” widow trait I’ve come to embrace? Not to worry, I AM self-sufficient most days. Brave even. I move forward regardless of my attempts to self-sabotage and downplay the hardship of losing you.