Letters to my wife

Dear Michelle,

We brought you home Friday.  Finally.  I sat in the car in Desert Hot Springs, hugging that box like it was my last possession... and cried.  Relief, anguish, joy, I don't know.  Maybe it was the finality of it all.  Whatever it was, it jolted me out of the fog the last few weeks have been.

My baby is home.  Sylvira, Peter, and Susan were waiting to welcome you.  I could imagine pop making googie eyes at your mother while you and Susan sat on the bed laughing and smoking a joint.

I sat on our porch, drank a beer and watched the sun set over the mountains like we had done so many times at the Hartzell house.  The day had been warm, but a breeze seemed to come from nowhere, and it was without a doubt the best hours I have enjoyed in some time.  It's funny, when I see the moon now, I imagine it's you looking down at us.  Probably because the full moons always made you so whacko!

It has been rough, but I think now the worst is over.  Thanks to an angel, the financial issue is no longer an issue.  The kids are doing well.  Don't worry about them too much, you set them up well for life.  And remember what I told you for the last eleven years...

I got it.

I miss you so much, and will keep writing to you as long as I can, and remember what I told you a long time ago: I won't stop loving you until I stop breathing.

-Marco