012:

Four a.m.

It was dawn. Hannah had been up for an hour, playing and having fun. She liked to be naked, laying on her quilt and just hanging out. Melia sat on the floor next to her and dangled a toy over her, to see if she'd reach for it. It was a little early for that but her eyes tracked it really well.

"Your daddy would have liked to have seen this."  A shiver ran through her. Last night before she left her parents house after dinner, her mother had come up to her and without warning had slipped something in her back pocket. She had taken it out to see it and found that it was a letter.

Open on Mother's day.

At first, she'd not been able to even think. It had caught her so off guard, she'd not known what to do. It was almost three months to the day. Mother's Day. She just sat and stared at the envelope. Could she even open it? She was doing so good, making plans, getting in shape, staying on top of music and scripts and auditions. Here was a tangible reminder of what she had lost. Could she open it? Would he be laughing at her for opening it early?

But she hadn't opened it early, instead, she'd lain awake wondering how it would affect her. Wondering if he were close by and watching her now. Somehow the letter brought him closer. And for a little while the last week or so, she'd felt far away.

In the predawn light, with her baby beside her, Melia turned on a little lamp and opened her letter.

Hey baby,

Happy Mother's Day. It's your first Mother's day and you are an amazing mother! I just had to tell you how amazing you are. I watch you every day, loving the way you interact with Hannah, how you are blossoming right before my eyes into someone capable and confident at motherhood.

(She felt a weird choking sensation as she thought about him watching her every day, but realized he meant that he watched her after Hannah's birth and before his death)

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, holding him close for just a moment.

I don't know how long you've been without me. It could be a couple of months or maybe less. But all in all, it can't have been real long, and so this letter is probably opening fresh wounds. I realized it before I decided to write it that it might be hard for you. I debated not writing it at all, but then decided that if it had been me, I'd want to have something from you even if it hurt. Sorry if it hurts.

I figure you're hurting anyway; maybe it will help to know that I'm with you, feeling your pain. I don't know how that works exactly, but I think if we love someone enough that we'll be able to comfort each other, somehow, someway, if there is a way, I'll be there, okay? Not to scare you or anything, absolutely not. But just to be there.

I don't believe in ghosts, not scary ghosts like that. I would never haunt you, or try to contact you and freak you out. That would be stupid and pointless. I would never do that. If you are sensing weird things, I swear it isn't me. So, either it's your very vivid and hallucinatory imagination, or you should have your dad exercise the place. I vote on the vivid imagination. I am not a vampire, I will not return and slam doors and throw things and cause disturbances. I will not.

But at night, when you're trying hard to sleep, and I know you will need to sleep when Hannah is sleeping. You need your rest. All new moms need their rest. I'll be there, I'll try and lay beside you. Why don't you lay down right now, and I'll show you how. Lay on your side, I'll wrap you in my arms and snuggle you like we used to do in Alaska when it was cold. It's probably not cold where you are, but picture it that way for me. It's my favorite. I love to snuggle you. Very platonic, just for comfort. I will never forget you, I will always care for you.

However.

I hope and pray that you are heeding the advice from my first letter. I hope and pray you are getting on with life. I really hope you have irons in the fire, Melia. Be on tour, be recording, be acting, be auditioning. It's okay to get a nanny, or have your sisters babysit. It's okay. Do it. Stay active. It is important to me, and it will be important to you. You're like me in this. You need to work. I promise you, it might not be what everybody says you should do. It might cause a few eyebrows to raise, but listen to me, this is for the best. I don't care what the grief counselors say. They aren't me, and you aren't their wife. I know what is best. Get busy. It'll be for the best, and there will come a time when you can relax, you'll know that time, when the grief has passed, and you can deal with it sanely. Now isn't that time. Trust me. You've trusted me before, trust me now.

I gather you're not surrounded by people. That's okay. I knew you wouldn't be. You think you want to deal with this alone. Okay. Whatever. It's what I would have done too, but that doesn't mean isolation. Keep moving. No down time. Have a plan and work it. Stay one step ahead of yourself. Think about contingencies, plan for them. Play the what if game. What if Hannah needs special care, what if I need grief counseling? What if I get too many auditions, which ones will I take? Plan it out, and keep the goal in mind. You can do it.

Say your prayers. I believe in the power of prayer. It has absolutely extended my life past where I thought I should be, and given me quite a bit of lucid time with my family that I didn't expect. So say your prayers, and on the other side, I will be saying them too. Okay? You're not alone.

Hannah is an amazing little girl. Give her kisses from Daddy, right now, lean over and give her a kiss, Thanks.

I love knowing that you just did that. Someday I'll have her give you hugs and kisses from me. They won't be quite the same, but they'll be from me nevertheless.

You are doing so good, Mia, you're amazing. You can do it, and do it all. Don't give up! Don't give in, just give it your all like you've always known you can!

Your loving, very loving husband,

Jared

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