My first letter to you, and it's hard to know what to say.

It's not the same place it was before death entered your life and your home. Not only do seasons change the landscape, but familiar landmarks come and go. How you connect with the place around you has changed, which also changes the place itself. Both literally and figuratively, the one who has died would not recognize this place where you live now. If you've actually picked up and moved, there's a whole new world to introduce.
 
Imagine writing this letter to the one you've lost [based on this blog post]: what would you show them in this new "home" town?

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Hi love.

You should come visit. 

Come stay with me in our not big apartment. In our kinda big city.

             

Some things are the same. Do you remember how the morning sun announces herself by covering the bed in a white, bright blanket?  It makes my eyes glow green and stripes my skin. It still wakes me too early, but I won’t hang those dark curtains without you. Sadly, you still can’t see the sunset, but I was thinking we could go to that park across the street, lace our fingers between us, and swing our way into the warm evening. I don’t know why we never did that.

The front left burner still lists the morning eggs to the south side of the pan, and your new Vans are by the door. The sheets are still pretty dirty, and I’ve left your jackets on the rack. Oh, and you dropped a penny on the bathroom floor. You should come get it, and we could put it someplace safe. My curling iron still hangs from the towel rack where you so cleverly hung it, and I adore hanging my necklaces from the elk shed you framed. You also never hung that mirror, so I think it’s time you did.

The Srirachi is still in the fridge, and I never thawed those scallops. You should come visit. I can cook them right up with some mushrooms and lemon and love. We can eat them on the still stained, still too-small-to-share-with-anyone-but-you couch. I’d like to hear you make that noise in the back of your throat when you take your first bite.

But seriously. Come visit. You’ll find some things changed. I tried not to baby, to leave it like you left us, but I couldn’t help it.

You’ll find your ashes in your stead, keeping me company in bed. We can remove the rock from Rainbow Lakes that sits atop the box and place it on the shelf with that sexy picture you love from your brother’s wedding. I wouldn’t need it to hold you there with me anymore. That aggressive tree weed is threatening the foundation of the porch and reaching for the door. It brings some leafy shade and some privacy for sexy porch kisses. It’s changed. But we can make it the same. You should still come visit. 

I’m sorry to have to warn you. The carpet and shower have gotten pretty dirty. They were your weekly chore. If you promise to come visit though, I’ll try to clean them before you arrive.

We can drive to the foothills. You’ll find the inside of the car is actually in order now. I’ve been riding my bike more. My nerves make driving dangerous, so there aren’t as many receipts, coffee cups and gym towels. Or we can ride bikes to Jazz in the Park. I won’t dare go without you, but I am beginning to miss it. Maybe you are too.

You’ll find the wedding dress you never saw hanging from the outside of the closet, but it’s become large as my grief has wasted me. I tried to stay mostly the same, but I can show you my hip bones with your hands and the flutter pulse now visible by my collarbone. I worry you’ll think my breasts too small now. But. Still. Come visit. If you don’t like it, we can order pizza, and I can show you the altar I arranged on the black walnut coffee table you lovingly built. I’ll let you feed and water and love me till I’m plump for picking. Oh and I cut my hair. Maybe. More accurately, Fireball cut my hair. I know you hate that stuff. And my hair short. But it wasn’t too much, and it’ll grow back.

Oh! And Netlfix. I have Orange is the New Black, Peaky Blinders, and Bloodline queued up for you. Some change is good.

I have your wallet all ready, but your glasses are broken. That was your fault not mine. I guess you wanted to see the trees until your last breath. It doesn’t mean you can’t come back though. We still have your old ones that you used to sharpie. I’ll take a fresh sharpie to them. Scout’s honor kiddo. Just come visit.

Your Jimmy Eat World shirt isn’t here anymore. I gave it to your cousin. I didn’t think you’d mind. I remember that story you loved to tell about when you took her to that concert and how moved you both were during Goodbye Sky Harbor. But really. I’ll make you take me to a show, and I’ll buy you a new one. Oh. And your little dirt bike model is with your brother. I tried to soften him with it. But, he still wouldn’t speak to me. Would you come visit and call him? I really liked him and am sad that he can’t stand me now.

You’ll be disappointed in the state of the garage. I know. You did such a good job of keeping it organized, but your dad and I only had an afternoon to sort out what goes where. But, don’t be mad. I haven’t been able to send anything else away. The camping bags are still packed though, so we can go at a moment’s notice. The marshmallows are still here too, and those will never go bad. Even if you can’t come right now, we can still roast them on sticks. I’ll still light mine on fire while you give yours a slow turn.

The change you will be most disappointed in is me. For that I’m the most sorry. I lost a lot of sweetness, and my tongue is pretty sharp. But hey. I won’t drag you to social events. They make me shake and shrink now. We can just stay in. I cry a lot now and can’t think as fast as before. I know you loved me clever, but you’ll have to settle for alive.

Just please come visit love. I promise I’ll be kind. Some things may be quite different, but the important ones are the same. The way I’ll hold your head in my lap. The taste of my tongue. The scrape of my nails and the way my ears unnaturally bend. I still startle before I fall asleep and wake up slow and hard. I'll still race home to see you and sing June to your Johnny. 

The point is come visit. I’ll show you around. I know it's not quite the same. But. You'll be so glad you did.