My dearest Reetee,
I tried to remember you here on the six month anniversary of your death, but to my dismay the server happened to be down that day. Though few are likely to read this, it is likely those who might would find it peculiar that a husband would write to his deceased wife. That's okay. No one knew you or has missed you as much as I, or understood the depth and capacity of your spirit. I speak to you every day in some faint hope that somehow, some way, you might still perceive my love for you. As with the depth of my grief, I never felt any limit in my love for you. You, in so many ways, were the world to me; only, without so many dark sides. The
boys -- our boys -- are helping me stay alive. So many times I have wished I would have have died with you. Alas, here,now eight months after your death, my karma has become so different than I ever dreamed, and the path is so difficult and lonely without you. If in some strange way you might have intimations of these words, you already know this. Though you live on inside me, I cannot help but wish that you live on in some strange but wonderful way we mortals cannot imagine. If so, I know you are doing so with your unique verve and aplomb.
I plan ot be back to write to you again, soon. Till then, I sign off by saying what I said to you so many times in our life together, and, over and over, as you died, "I love you, I love you, I love you ..."
And, here are thoughts that give me hope:
"If you haven't found something strange during the day, it hasn't been much of a day."
"What we call reality consists … of a few iron posts of observation between which we fill an elaborate papier-mâché of imagination and theory."
"Law cannot stand engraved on a tablet of stone for all eternity. … All is mutable."
- John Archibald Wheeler