Yellowbells & Transitions

Dear John,

 

There isn't much to say tonight. I had a busy and unremarkable day at work, my next-to-the-last. I came home, put on my bathrobe, had a baked potato with cheese and veggies on it, and cuddled up with the animals. Spring is progressing - the yellowbells are in bloom and there are buds on some of the trees. We had such an early spring the year you died - I remember taking photos of the crabapples in full bloom and showing them to you in rehab. You smiled so big when you looked at them. That was an early spring and this is a late one. Somewhere in the middle is average.

 

I've been teary the last few days. It feels odd to be having such a big transition in my life and to not have you here to share it with me. This time next week I'll be doing a job that I never came home and told you about. But I'll tell you everything here, and since you're a part of me, you'll be a part of my new job, too. When I finish training in LaGrange and come back here to work, almost everybody at the bank knew you, so you'll be there every step of the way.

 

There really is something sad about starting a new chapter of my life without you. It makes it more real that you're not coming back. It feels a bit like it did when I changed the spare bedroom into an office - it wasn't like it was when you were here and that made me sad, even though I knew that you'd like it that way. My life will be different now, but I know that you'll like it that way. And I do believe you had something to do with it. And every step, every day, brings me closer to being with you again.

 

Hurry the day! Love you with all my heart,

Joan.