Quarantine

It’s a Sunday. We loved Sundays. 2 days before St. Patrick’s Day. You loved St. Paddy’s day. It was yours. My whiskey, brown eyed Galway girl. We’d head to Big Y. I’d make our corned beef and cabbage for the week. You‘d be in your glory. You’d call me on lunch during the week and say you could eat my corned beef and cabbage every day- and I’m grateful for that because I aways cooked it for an army. This year I can say, “last year we did this” next year, it will be 2 years ago I remember this... you’re not here this year. This year on this Sunday I went home and packed up our sheets, our towels, our Knick knacks and labeled the boxes accordingly. I remember packing our apartment together. We did it together. This I’m doing alone. I feel like I need to do it alone. I’m taking our life together apart. Piece by piece I’m taking memories off the wall, off the shelves, out of the drawers and packing them away. They will never be what they once were. Loading boxes and bags into my car today I made sure to tell myself ”you’re not weak, this is strength.” I’m grateful for strength and I also resent it. I want you. Watching Jax in our yard, I looked to the sky and said see, baby Jax misses his home too. He loves going home. You can see the excitement in his eyes. He goes to the back yard and marks every twig, every leaf, every blade of grass because they are his. On the car ride back to KJ and Bre‘s I promised him I would keep fighting and working and one day I’d give him the home and the yard he deserves. He hates leaving home. I wish I could give him back that safety. I wish I could have that safety. While I was packing, Jax just sat uncomfortably in front if the office door. Like he was waiting for something. He knows what happened there. I can’t help but feel sad for the hours he spent infront it that door 9 months ago. I imagine him laying there just as he did today. He was not comfortable. He was not ok. I don’t think I’ll be taking our baby boy home again. I don’t like taking him away from his home. Watching him shake on the ride back. I don’t want to subject him to that. He misses you. He loves you. He can’t communicate but his body language and behaviors speak for themselves. I don’t often get “the urge” to call you but, I did today. I’ve been listening to our Ireland driving music. The playlist I made for our honeymoon while we drove through the hills and narrow roads of Ireland (I’m also super grateful for that trip). That playlist is full of our favorite songs. I hope you’re up there wherever you are in the universe, singing them with my dad. Laughing. Smiling. Reminiscing. When aftermath came to our house to clean that room, they took our blanket with them. The blanket we got in our honeymoon with the shamrocks. At the time I didn’t remember or think about any of the items of importance in the room. I just wanted it all gone. Luckily, when I called weeks later the woman who cleaned our home said she remembered the blanket and pulled it out of the garbage for me. When we got that blanket, I said it was only for st Patrick’s day because it had shamrocks on it. You pulled it out last year around this time and then it went into the office once the holiday was over. It’s been folded in my room since it was recovered. Our blanket. Our Ireland honeymoon blanket that smells like sheep. Lol you thought I was crazy for saying that but I swear, that wool smells like straight up sheep. I have that blanket. I don’t know if I’ll ever use it. It’s folded neatly and placed within eyes reach. You‘d be the one to take it out this week and place it on our couch. (That has since been donated, Jax was also freaked out by the emptiness that was once his home) I hope that you see me. I hope you’re proud of me. Baby, I’d give anything to have you back. I’ve been feeling numb lately and I’m sorry that I haven’t been connected to you. But today I became reconnected. I miss you so much. Reality in all its forms are overwhelming. I’m trying to be grateful. I’m trying to be present.

When we first met, maybe 5-6 weeks in, you told me about a tattoo you wanted. You wanted a warrior woman on your left thigh. It’s a spot where self harm was apparent. (Just as all your tattoos had a reason for the placement. I know every scar. Every mark and burn. I know your body) You looked at me and said, I know this sounds insane and I’m sorry, but I want it to have your eyes. I did think that was crazy. We barely knew each other and you wanted my eyes tattoo‘d on your thigh? Well, last week I got my warrior tattoo. It’s not a person just the word and I’m holding that sentiment close to my heart. The fact that when you looked into my eyes you saw that warrior. You saw that strength. My love, my wife. I will be that warrior. I will keep pushing forward. I will keep trying to better myself. But, know that this warrior misses you. She longs for you. She loves you. She wishes we had more time. She wishes there was more love to have had. I‘m not scared of the present, the crazy epidemic going on in the world. Because, at the end of the day, I have love here on earth and I have love where you are and I can’t wait to feel your love again. None the less, please watch over us. Guide us and send us your love and light. Baby, I wish you were here to see Savannah. Your niece is so sweet, a little bit of a B, a true sour patch kid and you'd love it. I wish you were here for it. You’d be proud that one of her first words is “Jax”. I’m so glad you met her, that you held her, that you loved her. I’m grateful that you will always be a part of my families life. l can‘t say that I’ll be a part of your family but, you will always have a place and a home in ours. We love you. We see you. We miss you. I love you, my love. More. Most. More than most and even more than that. No one can ever take that away from us. I just wish it was enough to have you here. Happy Sunday before St. Patrick’s Day, my love. Have one for me and I’ll pour one out for you.