11. Irreplaceable

Me:  "I don't know how I could possibly cope without you.  I wouldn't want to live anymore - I don't know what I'd do."   

Jon:  "If anything were to happen to me, I'd want you to go on and find love again."

Well, I tried, Jon.  I didn't sit there and declare I'd never love again or resign myself to a life of being the sad, despondent, lonely widow.  Maybe I should have, though, since the alternative didn't work out so well.  I thought I was in love again...but I was really just dependent on the presence of someone who temporarily filled the permanent void left by my conspicuously absent husband.  I was used for the money and lifestyle I could provide, manipulated, lied to, told I was wonderful and beautiful and a kind, generous person, blah, blah, blah.  And why?  Because I trust too easily and sat there and told him all the things I wanted to hear - all the things that my husband had told me without being asked that I longed to hear again.  I got spoiled with Jon - as one mutual friend once told me, I hit the jackpot early on in life instead of doing it the other way around as most people do in going through a slew of bad relationships before finally stumbling upon a good one.  With all three of the relationships I've had since losing Jon, I felt - and still feel - that I was somehow "cheating" on my husband.  I realize that technically that's impossible.  But fidelity was our cornerstone; from day one, Jon and I agreed that our relationship would never survive the trials of life and long-distance without the promise of complete honesty and faithfulness.  And because this was our mantra, I never questioned or even had cause to question Jon's devotion and commitment to me and to us.  While Jon was deployed to Iraq, I used to have recurring nightmares.  I would have these awful dreams about being unfaithful to him, and I'd wake up in a cold sweat, horrified by the mere possibility of something so unthinkable.  I don't know why those dreams haunted me so often during that time.  I guess I was so afraid of losing something so perfect that I'd convinced myself the only way I'd lose it would be to screw it up myself.  After he died, my nightmares instead revolved around the manner of his death - I'd dream he had died in various ways other than what actually happened.  Maybe it was a coping mechanism, a way to deny the reality I couldn't face?  Or maybe it was just the fact that I felt cheated out of life by his death?  I said it back then and I'll say it again now - I'd take his place in an instant if I could.


In one of the relationships I've had since losing Jon, the guy was literally jealous of my ongoing relationship with Jon's family - jealous!!  He told me that Jon was "dead" and I just needed to move on and get over it and that I should distance myself from Jon's parents and his brother because they were only making it "harder" for me to accept the past.  Jon's parents treat me like their own daughter, his brother is like the brother I've never had, my sister-in-law is like a sister, and I love my nephew (who is named after my husband) and niece with all my heart.  When I moved to Ohio recently for law school, Jon's cousins welcomed me to their home state with open arms.  So I'm pretty sure that the only mistake I've made in all of this was spending time with a guy who kept me away from the wonderful people that continue to include me in their family events and traditions and ask nothing from me in return!  I've also had plenty of friends push me to just "get out there" and meet a nice boy or try online dating or even speed dating for graduate students - um, cringe?  I can't even listen to the radio in the car on my daily commute anymore because there are too many sad songs with sad words!  How am I supposed to just put on a happy face and pretend I don't come with a boatload of emotional baggage amidst a crowd of "single" people when I still think of myself as "married" to Jon?  My true friends are the ones who express their relief at my recent realization that I've been drowning my sorrows in bad relationships and that being on my own is actually an incredibly good and healthy thing as I tackle the grief I've been trying to ignore for almost 5 years now.  Besides, I ask you, when my heart still belongs to one incredible, irreplaceable man, how can I possibly open myself up to the possibility of life with another?


Jon and I were lucky enough to have - albeit for a short time - a once-in-a-lifetime love story.  I get that.  I've stopped trying to recreate the life I so desperately miss in the form of relationships that didn't compare and, if anything, were almost an insult to my marriage.  The only thing Jon and I were not lucky enough to share together was the blessing of children.  Even now as I consider the possibility, my heart sinks.  I don't want just anyone's kids - I want his kids.  I want that little piece of him that I can look down at and touch and know will forever connect our lives and my future.  Alas, however, it's not to be.  Even with the greatest of technologies available these days, there will be no little ones for Jon and I.  I think a part of me has felt over the past several years that the only way to still have that dream would be to hurry up and find someone with whom it might be possible.  But at what cost?  Pain, heartache, unhappiness and a mediocre (at best) relationship?  So, I realize there's no point in pinning my hopes for little ones on someone who is simply not good enough.  There are still other options - I could adopt a child and provide them with a better life that they might have otherwise had.  I could show up at a sperm bank one day and tell them I'm ready to be a single mother.  With today's technologies and adoption agencies, anything may not be possible, but there are certainly a hell of a lot of possibilities.  It's hard for me to imagine any child I might have calling anyone other than Jon "daddy."  Jon may not be able to be the father himself in the physical sense, but in terms of his legacy, any child I ever have the fortune of calling my own will know what he fought and died for.  They will know that Jon, my husband, was a hero.  And maybe if just one more little person on this earth misses and loves Jon as much as I do, that legacy will continue on for just a little bit longer.