Dear Scott,
Christmas is just around the corner. The house looks so bleak with no decorations, no gifts, no stockings. I just can't manage to energy to do any of that this year. I am afraid to go in the Christmas closet because I know it will be filled with the Christmas decor we have collected from all over the world these last two decades. There just doesn't seem to be any Christmas magic in the air this year.
We did get our first snow. I know you would have loved it while also complaining about it messing up your tours. Your Christmas tours should be in full swing by now - the streets of Cleveland are quieter this year without you.
I don't think you could imagine the full impact of your suicide. Every single moment of my life for the rest of my life will be different. I hope to put the pieces back together in time, but I will carry you with me unitl the day I die. I don't know what I am supposed to do. I just spend hours and hours and hours alone on the couch watching TV. I don't want to do anything else. I guess this is the depression.
I talk to you everyday. I wonder if you can hear me. I did find a single sheet of toilet paper in the bathroom floor. Was that you? I know I would never leave that.
I hope you have found the peace you could not find in life. I know you untentionally taken away my peace. I was talking today and refered to you as "hys husband who died." That is the truth, of course, but I am 51 years old. I shouldn't have to say those words.
The Christmas cards hae begun to arrive. They are only addressed to me; just another reminder that I am all alone. I haven't had the strength to open any yet.
I love you to the moon and back, my dear.
