happy anniversary

Today, I'm borrowing a page from one of my favorite bloggers (dooce) and writing a letter that everyone but its intended can read. Today would have been Blake's and my fifth anniversary.
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Dear Blake,
Happy anniversary! I'm sad that you are not here to celebrate this day with me, but I will always remember it as one of the happiest of my life. The day that you agreed to love and cleave to me until death parted us - I knew I was so lucky to have you, and I wanted the world to know my joy. I think our wedding was the first true look your family had of me, and I bet it surprised them. Up to that point, I had been very intimidated and unsure of myself around them, and looking back, I didn't like that side of me AT ALL. I can hardly wonder at their semi-enthusiasm. Thankfully, it didn't carry over to our wedding day, and they saw the me that you loved so dearly. I laughed, I cried - you did too - and the room was convinced of our delight in one another.

At the end of the ceremony, you hopped off the stage, and I dropped into your arms. I loved that you were so strong and capable, and I really loved that you didn't drop me...or break a sweat.

We are also approaching the third anniversary of your death, which I do not like to dwell upon. In these three years, our boy has grown into the most beautiful, charming, and lovable child this world has known. While it grieves me enormously that we do not get to enjoy him together, I know that you are SO PROUD of him. You're probably annoying the citizenry of heaven with whatever the wallet photo equivalent is. He looks so much like you, so much like me, and I catch glimpses of most everyone else we're directly related to in there. I think he's starting to understand that our family is different, and I'm doing my best to keep you close. He knows you in pictures, and I tell him when he likes something just like you did (snow!). I feel so inadequate, doing this without you, and I want so badly to honor you and make certain he knows you...but it's difficult to introduce a child to a man absent. My prayer is that stories would come to mind and spill from my lips much more now that his comprehension is growing.

Blake, I miss you so much. Your absence is a huge hole in our family, and I find myself thinking of you all the time. I am afraid of forgetting any little thing about you, what you said or did. We got such a short amount of time together that it's easy to feel like I didn't get to fully know you...but I knew you. Deeply. Intimately. I love you because of and in spite of all that information. I wish that you were with us, that I could hold your hand, sleep with you, and be frustrated by you. I miss calling you "baby," as you called me "sweetie." Such ridiculous nicknames, but hearing "Hey sweetie, it's me." when I picked up the phone was always dear.

I still drink too much Dr. Pepper, and I finally got a cell phone. Without your motivation, I'm rarely outside for anything much longer than walking to the car from the store. As I type, little Blake is on my lap, pretending to type on a pretend keyboard, moving his body and head like he's dancing to the rhythm of my fingers on the keys. He's such a fun kiddo. You would like him.

We're doing well. There are times that I feel like an amputee, except that it's a part of my soul, not my body, that is missing. Those times will probably grow less intense, less painful, but I don't expect them to end. We were knit together, body and soul. Your absence changes that, but it does not erase the fact of it. I will figure out how to love you and another (one of these days, God willing), and figure out how to have more in-laws than is fair. Somehow, God will walk me through this...and I will continue to love and miss you until I see you again.

Love,
Addie