Dear John,
It's another anniversary - nine months now. (Well, THAT explains the pain, doesn't it?) In some ways it seems like you died last week, and in some ways I feel like I've been a widow for decades. I'm still having problems with time.
What I am now is amazed. It's hard to believe that I feel this much better because the holidays are over. I knew they'd be hard, but I had no idea how hard. I spent the better part of two months curled up in a fetal position, watching junk television, eating poptarts, and snivelling. I couldn't even make it to church, because that was so much a part of us and the memories were just too much. Now I'm back on my emotional feet, and back at church. And it is good.

And maybe I am, too. I'm certainly doing better than I was a couple of weeks ago. It took effort to get to church this morning, but once I was there I loved it. It will require discipline for a while, I imagine. It still feels strange to see behind the iconostasis, and not see you there serving as subdeacon. But everybody was glad to see me, and seemed to understand why I disappeared for the holiday season. And I met two new familes today. This is our twentieth year as a parish, and we have nearly a hundred people. And we have lots of young families and babies. And that is good, too.
So it seems that a lot of things are good. I would gladly give up everything to be with you. But I'll get there when the time is right. You were just impatient and had to go on ahead without me. But, like I said last night, you can't get rid of me with just a little thing like death. We're joined sacramentally and forever. So there.
Love you forever and ever,
Joan.
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