Thursday, June 27, 2013



Since he's been gone,
So much has changed.

Sometimes I can't believe how much he's missed, and how much has changed since he was here last. Our favorite artists have come out with multiple albums he's missed, his favorite sports teams writing more history, buildings he'll never see, restaurants he'll never try. I could go on and on to the point where it sickens me. Will there come a time where the world as Jeremy knew it won't exist anymore?

But, there are some things that I cannot bring myself to change....or touch, or alter. Things are just his. It struck me last week that there are still quite a few things that haven't changed since he left.

The 4 digit code I create whenever I need one - it's still the one he created.
The tons of awful music on our itunes that I'll never listen to but can't seem to get rid of because he put it there.
The background picture on his old ipod that my son uses...I can't seem to change it because I know Jeremy set it.
His bible I still carry in my purse with a set list scribbled on a paper and used as a bookmark that I can't seem to move.
His way-past-its-prime old pillow that sits in my closet that clearly needs to be thrown away, but I can't move it.

There are just some things that I cannot bring myself to alter or change because it feels like I'm erasing the few tangible things left that Jeremy touched. It's always surreal to sit and look at his handwriting and know that at some point, he was here - living and breathing - and writing down those words. So insignificant and now suddenly one of the few things I have to hold on to, and it means everything to me.

Life will continue to change, no matter how I feel about it. It won't freeze to where Jeremy left it. But there are some pieces of him, frozen in time, that I hold on to for dear life in hopes that the world won't alter so much without him in it.


  1. My son uses his truck now but every now and then I get in the drivers seat when it's parked in my driveway and just sit... I run my hands over the steering wheel, I open the console between the seats. Everything in it is just as it was. Notes he wrote and left, pens he used, his ipod, his sunglasses, a tube of sunscreen (put there by me... ha-ha, silly me, I was worried about skin cancer when he was actually walking around with Stage IV colon cancer). Anyway, everything is just there and I when I need a "fix" of Michael I know where to go.

    p.s. Fortunately my 22 year old son has no interest in cleaning anything out, so it's safe for a long, long time!

  2. Nice post Vee.
    I was struck by the same feeling yesterday evening while walking the dog. Looking at houses torn down and new ones put up that Dave never saw. (And would have been very interested in watching go up as he was a Construction Teacher.)
    I'm preparing my house to list it, and it's stirring up a lot of those feelings and thinking of things that are changing that he never saw.
    And last night after cleaning out more of his stuff from a storage room, I enjoyed a wine on the deck that we planned but he never saw. A neighbour whistled in the distance and the dog immediately perked up. It actually sounded like Dave's whistle. My mind imagined him walking through the back yard & up the stairs on the deck. I was visualizing him walking up stairs that didn't exist when he was alive, and then wondered why I torment myself that way...

    And I too have a 4 digit code I still use that Dave created!
    And I've left all his 80's rock on iTunes even though I don't like or listen to it!
    And his handwriting is magical to me! (I actually scanned in some stuff to ensure I still have it if I lose it or it fades over time.)

  3. Vee, I love this post. It captures so perfectly how I feel about the "things" I continue to lug around from move to move (my husband and I were/are both active duty Army - I've literally moved 7 times in the last 6 years). His handwriting is one of things I treasure most. I keep every card, piece of paper, post-it, etc. on which he ever wrote something. Looking at his words there on the paper somehow makes it feel as though he's here with me, as though he wrote what I'm reading only moments ago. I know that's not true, but that's often how it feels. I was actually just thinking about all this the other day when I decided it was finally time to recycle a few of the pairs of Army physical training shorts that were well past their prime. He had taken a few pairs of my shorts with him to Iraq because we didn't have enough time to order him the correct size before he left. He wore large shorts and I wear medium, so it always makes me smile to think of him squeezing into my too-small shorts. Anyway, the point is that he wrote his name on the labels of the shorts. When I was recycling them, I was careful to remove the labels and save them, despite them being somewhat faded and discolored from countless washes. They have his handwriting on them, and thus they're more precious to me than anything money can buy. I'm sure you understand exactly what I mean.

    Thank you for this post. I'm currently deployed to Afghanistan where I work long hours but still have too much time to think, and so, if it's possible, I miss him more than ever.