There is one pile left in my house…and it’s the most
painful. It’s a pile of notes that Rick wrote to me from 2007-2014.
Rick was a masculine guy, but he was also very sensitive. He
wrote me notes all the time – when we were just starting out, later when I was
in graduate school for 3 years, and right up until the day he died. It was
typical for me to come home late after working all day and going to school all
night to find one of his handwritten notes waiting for me on the kitchen table.
They always made me smile and feel loved. He never tired of
writing to me. He always took the time to let me know he was thinking of me.
Often, he was already in bed for the night when I’d finish
my busy schedule. His notes were what connected us until the morning. I used to
crawl in bed beside him and feel so lucky to have a husband who wrote me notes.
I saved every one.
Now, I have hundreds… from various stages of our
relationship and marriage, including the last note I ever found waiting for me
on our kitchen table - his suicide note to me. It hurts so much to read them
all, but they beg to be read, because they also remind me how much Rick loved
me. He knew that I would be okay, or he would never have taken his own life.
When someone asks me about Rick, about the kind of man he
was, I immediately think of his notes. To me, his notes most clearly define the
kind of person he was: thoughtful, sensitive, honest, and grateful. We all have
flaws, troubles, burdens, and idiosyncrasies. Rick was no different. He was not
the perfect man, but he was the perfect man for me.
His notes to me always came from his heart rather than his
mind. It is because his notes so aptly define the character of the man I loved
that I am sharing this video:
