From Where You Are

by | Jan 17, 2012 | 2 comments

It’s a typical morning for me.

I wake up next to a head of black hair- but it’s not yours.  It’s your daughter’s.  She’s been terrified of sleeping alone lately and every night is a battle.  Because she has such a hard time going to sleep, she sleeps late and I have to wake her up for preschool.  “Wake up honey.”  Even without remembering them specifically, I know I’ve been dreaming of you and of us all night long.  I am tired from it and it leaves a bitter taste behind.

Quick breakfast, getting hair, teeth brushed.  In the car.  In the school parking lot, a friend of Audrey’s runs to her and gives her a hug, unfortunately knocking her down on the wet pavement.  Her pants are soaked through.  Inside the school room, I go to get her spare pants and change them.  Before I leave, she insists I talk to her teacher about her fear of fairy tales.  I do and her teacher tells me that she knows what it’s in reference to specifically and that some of the kids play “monster” and Audrey bursts into tears.  I tell Audrey they won’t be playing that today, give her a kiss, and head out.

Today I head to the local Starbucks since I only have a couple of hours before she’s through and we don’t live that close by.  I bring my computer, my notebook with all of my to-do lists and a big binder of ideas for things to do with Audrey.  I keep my coat on.  It’s drafty at my table by the window.

My emails consist of writing back and forth to the realtor who is helping me find a home.  Emailing my parents to see if they can babysit.  Emailing between a medical center here and my contact at the US Embassy in Switzerland- still a year and a half later and a ton of back and forth and obtaining letters and certificates and faxes,  trying to secure your “tissue” that they’ve held there for further genetic testing.  Still wondering what the f–k happened and doing so at the recommendation of the pediatric cardiologist Audrey saw at her pediatrician’s recommendation to rule out any genetic heart defect- since- we really don’t know what happened to you my sweet husband.

After that putting up a few things on Craigs List that I’ve finally taken proper photos of.  Audrey’s old crib mattress- her stroller – her booster seat.  These haven’t been used for a while and are leaning up on walls in my room or in a stuffed closet in our one bedroom apartment.  In the posting, “used by one child for about two years.”  One child.  I take a long look at the photo of the stroller- the stroller I can see you pushing Audrey in- see us walking together along the river path…back when we were just a young family.

Three listings done on Craigs List- I have a lot more to do.

My parking meter will run out in a few minutes- time to go get our daughter.

Life feels hard and every thing I do infused with this sadness and tragedy.  I miss you tremendously.  Mostly, I miss you simply being alive- but I realize lately- I really miss your love and support as well- in this, what I hope is the most challenging time of my life.  If you can, send me some help from where you are.   I love you.


January 17, 2012


  1. megan

    I wonder about that with matt's son too – because I don't know what actually happened to cause the actual drowning, if it was heart attack or stroke or something not medical.
    What a bizarre bizarre world this is that we have need of these kinds of thoughts and questions.

  2. Brooke Simmons

    I believe he will send you some help. I believe I have received the guidance I needed when I asked for it, so I'm hoping for you too that you get what you need.


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