Christmas 2025

Dear Frenchie 

I woke up this morning to the rain — sweet, welcome rain that finally cooled us down. It’s been much needed. This is the first Christmas I can remember with temperatures in the 70s, and honestly? I don’t like it. You would love it, though. The forecast promised a few days of rain; instead, we got maybe an hour. Still, the Red Mountains outside my back patio were breathtaking in the mist and drizzle.

I didn’t do much today. I watched a Lifetime Christmas movie. Thought about you all day. And cried a little. I miss you — especially on holidays.

I received a message from Blake that said:

“Merry Christmas, Mama, I love you.”

Simple words, but they wrapped around my heart all day.

Kayla called to check on me. She’s been sick, and so were the boys. Of course, I didn’t want her coming over ill, so I told her to rest and that we’d talk another time. Haleigh sent three pictures — one of you standing in the snow, one of you and me together in the snow, and one of Ellis and Sena opening gifts this morning.

In that moment, memories overtook me.

I remembered that ski trip … the one where you tried to teach me how to ski for the first time. Oh boy, that was a mistake. You could glide down the mountain like a pro — I loved watching you. But when it came to teaching me? Patience wasn’t on your radar. You wanted me to catch on quickly so we could ski together. I just remember how hard it was — the bruises on my body and my ego.

I ran off the path more times than I can count — into trees, off balance, falling. You’d yell, “Monya … turn in your knees … what don’t you understand?” Then you’d ski down to meet me, completely perplexed.

I’d cry, and you’d ski off, shaking your head.

I vowed then I would never let you coach me again on anything you could do far better than I. I finally retired to the lodge, drank hot chocolate, and — would you believe it — met Robert Redford and his wife.

When I think about that now, it makes me laugh. You have never been the most patient when it comes to teaching — remember trying to help the kids with math and getting so frustrated with their homework?

Later in the day, my Bishop invited me to his home for dinner. I knew the kids were busy and I wouldn’t be seeing them, so I texted him to say I would love to come.

But first, I went to your grave. I shed a few tears, placed flowers, and talked to you — quietly, like I always do. I’ve come to realize something: most of the frustrating memories I have with you are now the ones I wouldn’t trade for anything. They make me laugh. They make me shake my head. They remind me why we allow silly things to ever upset us in the first place.

At dinner, Bishop Evans and his wife, Katie, told me about the years they struggled to carry a baby. Katie’s mom and dad were there too. They’ve served five missions — two as Mission Presidents. Katie served in France when she was young, and she lit up when I told her you had served in Belgium.

They most recently served in the Philadelphia Spanish-speaking mission, and before that, in the Dominican Republic. I told them I would love to serve on a mission someday — that when I retire, I plan to do just that. They made me feel so comfortable and welcomed.

Overall, Christmas Day was memorable — not in the way I expected, but in a way that reminded me of love, loss, connection, and the strange beauty that comes with remembering. I came home last night hoping our children had a great day too.

I love you,
Monya

Christmas Eve 2025

 Hello Sweetheart,

My heart has been tender these past couple of days. Christmas will always be a reminder of the memories we shared. I remember you going out shopping every Christmas Eve with Mike Scow, convinced you two could find last-minute gifts for your wives. When I think of how magical you always made Christmas for our children, it tears me up.

Last night, I made cheeseballs for members I know in my new ward. I cranked up the Christmas music and rolled those balls with a smile — and lots of thoughts of you. I took one to my bishop, Jason Evans, along with a book I recently bought at Deseret Book called Direct Messages, a collection of social media posts from the General Authorities this year. Bishop Evans was happy for both the cheeseball and the book.

As I was walking away, he asked if there was significance to making the cheeseballs. I told him you, and I loved doing that for our VIP friends. Then he asked if I had plans for tonight or Christmas. Sadly, I told him I had no plans. Then he invited me to his home for Christmas dinner with his family. I told him I’d let him know, but I wasn’t sure.

Kaitlyn posted a beautiful tribute to you today, and it brought me to tears. She truly loves you and often feels you near. Blake called this morning and asked if he could bring Wes and Zeek over to play, and if I could drop them off at 1:00. Of course, I told him I would love to — so he and Chloe could get their last-minute wrapping done. I waited until 12:30… but he never came. And he didn’t answer his phone when I called. I’m sure he was just busy; he wanted to take Wes to get a gift for his mama. You would be proud of him — he is such a great dad and so kind.

Kayla will come over tomorrow with the boys. I’m excited to hear how their Christmas will go. Recker is getting so big, Ezra is in the choir at his school, and Teddy is such a sweet boy. I see them more than any of the grandchildren, and I know that would have made you very happy. Kayla and I have grown much closer. I’m amazed at her ability to handle what she is going through with Jeremy, but I wish they would move forward with the divorce. It seems inevitable, so I don’t know why they wait. As parents, we never really know everything — and I’m okay with that. I just want to see her happy again. We’ve often talked about how we thought you would have handled all this mess with Jeremy. I know you, and I would have been on the same page. I know you were disappointed in Jeremy, and this would have stirred you up even more. I just let her know I am here for her if she needs anything.

Haleigh and Scott are still not communicating with me. I miss them, and I haven’t seen our grandchildren for over a year. But I have learned these things can’t be rushed, and my door is always open to them. I still bought them gifts, and Blake delivered them.

I have felt you so strongly this week. Thank you for that — and I thank Heavenly Father for allowing it to happen. These tender mercies help me through the days when I long to be with you again, when my tears come easily from missing you so much.

I am going to bed tonight, so grateful for the memories you left me with. We have so many — and I think about them every day. They come at random times, when I am reminded by a beautiful sunset… or the rain that falls on the mountains behind my home.

I love you.
I’m hopeful that I will hear from the kids tomorrow… I know that is what you would want too.

Love,
Monya

---

Long Summer

Hey Babe,

It’s been a long and hot summer — the kind I always said was treacherous and unforgiving here in Arizona. I remember how much you liked it, how you said there was something about that heat that felt alive and real. I, on the other hand… not so much. I dread these summer months, and this one has been no different.

I still think about you every day — almost every minute. I wonder if that will ever go away. Life without you has been the hardest thing I’ve ever endured. I still find myself glancing at the clock around 6:30 pm, wondering when you’ll be coming home. I thought moving away from the house we'd lived in for so long would help, but it hasn’t. Every night, I stand at the window in our new home and watch the sun set, and I find myself wondering if you see sunsets like this, too. I suppose not… but thinking about how much you loved an Arizona sunset gives me a few moments of peace.

I don’t love this new home — not the way I thought I would. Living in Reserve reminds me so much of you, and I’m right next to the model where you used to work. Everywhere I look, there are memories — the furniture, the rooms, the quiet. Changing homes, changing wards, changing routines… It’s been harder than I ever imagined. I get very lonely. Besides Kayla, I rarely hear from our children. Being without you is so much worse.

When this happened before — when I missed the kids and the grandchildren — at least I knew I had you to lean on. You were my support. You were my safe place. I had friends in our old Ward I could call on, people who knew us, who knew how to help, who could give me a blessing if I needed it. Here, it’s different. I pray a lot for relief. I ask Heavenly Father for peace and strength… and sometimes I feel it, like a soft whisper that carries me through the day.

Our sweet Kayla is going through a tough time right now. Her world feels like it’s being pulled apart, and it breaks my heart. Jeremy is not the man we thought he was when we welcomed him into our family. I wish I had talked to her more when she was distant, when she needed a little more of me. I’m not always sure how to help, but I pray that she and Jeremy make the best decisions for their boys. I talk to her several times a week, and it hurts to hear what she’s enduring. I just want her to be happy and safe.

I love you, babe — more than words can fully express.

Love,
Monya

Our Prophet Dies

 Dear Frenchie, 

President Nelson has passed away. Did you see him? Do you talk to him?

Year Two: The Ache That Lingers

Frenchie

Everyone told me it would get easier with time. But here I am — deep into the second year — and it hurts even more than ever.

The world expects healing to follow a schedule, as if grief has a deadline. But the truth is, I still cry every night. I stare at the pillow with your face — that big, beautiful smile — and I miss it just as much now as I did the day you left. My heart still feels shattered. I still reach for you in the quiet moments, and each time I wake and realize you’re truly gone, the pain comes flooding back all over again.

I’m learning that grief isn’t linear. It isn’t something to check off a to-do list. It’s not something you “get over.” It has reshaped me—woven into the fabric of my everyday life. I’m learning to carry it, but some days I still fail.

Grief is complicated because it’s invisible. From the outside, I look delicate — maybe even strong. But no one sees the weight I carry: the lump in my throat, the restless knots in my stomach, the exhaustion that comes from pretending I’m okay. Grief is quiet and heavy, a burden most people never see.

You were my anchor. My peace. The one who helped me breathe when the world felt too heavy. Without you, I feel like half of me is missing.

Still, I move forward. I carry your absence with me like a shadow — sometimes light, sometimes suffocating. Some days, the grief feels like a soft whisper. On other days, it rages like a storm, leaving me breathless. But always, underneath it all, it’s love. Pure and enduring love.

I am learning to coexist with the sorrow. I don’t feel whole — not yet — but I am still here. I’ve changed. I’ve grown in ways I never expected since you left.

Haleigh still will not talk or text me. My heart aches for her, but I’m learning that I have to keep moving forward without her. I miss her so much, and I know this would have hurt you, too. I may never see her or our grandchildren again. So much has changed, and I no longer have the energy to keep trying to force what isn’t flowing. I’m not getting younger, and I want to build healthy, joyful relationships with the children who do reach out, who show up, who love me back.

Kayla tells me I wasn’t supposed to reach out to Haleigh — that there’s no contact rule— but I never got that memo. I send texts at random moments: I love you, I miss you. I don’t know how else to hold her in my heart.

Despite all of the brokenness, I can feel Heavenly Father near. I feel you cheering me on in the quiet moments. And while I may not be alone, I am — undeniably — deeply, quietly lonely.

I’ve decided to serve in the Mesa Temple. I’m on the waiting list for a calling — just one day a week, but as much as I can. And I’ve decided I want to serve a mission someday. In two years, when I retire, I hope I’ll be healthy enough to go. You know this was always my dream. I wanted to serve when I was twenty-one, but life had other plans — beautiful, messy, unexpected plans. Then you promised me we would serve a mission together. You promised me.

I don’t know what our mission will be, Eric. But I see it two ways:

1. I get to serve in this life — healthy, devoted, and doing good — carrying you with me in every prayer.

or
2. I finish this life and serve with you on the other side.

In either case… I win.

I love you so much. I want to do everything right while you’re gone so that when I cross that veil, I can run straight into your arms.

XOXO
Monya

The Day the Silence Spoke Back

 

Dear Frenchie,

There was a time I believed that once someone passed, they were simply gone—out of reach, out of touch, out of time. The physical pain of your absence has been unbearably hard. The silence I’ve felt is so loud, it hurts.

But then something changed.

Slowly, quietly, profoundly—I began to hear you. To feel you with me.

It didn’t happen all at once. It started with a whisper of intuition, a warmth in a room where I stood alone, a flicker of a memory that came alive in real time. I thought I was imagining it—but I desperately wanted it to be real. Over time, those feelings returned, again and again, with clarity, with power, and with love.

Grief has cracked me wide open. And in that open space, your spirit found room to enter my heart and soul. Thank you for that.

I’ve realized that spirits don’t always come with flashing lights or dramatic signs. Often, it’s subtle. It’s the beautiful sunsets and the wondrous sunrises I now love to wake up to.
It’s the song that plays when I’m thinking of you.
It’s the memory of you learning the Stanky Leg and how happy that made you.
It’s the feather on my doorstep or the ladybugs that continue to show up.
The dream that felt more like a visit than a vision.
It’s the way my body chills just before a wave of peace washes over me.

The more I’ve leaned into trust, the stronger the connection has grown. I began talking to you—first out loud, then in thought, and sometimes just through tears. And always, you responded—in your own way, not in words, but in presence. A presence so unmistakable, I can only call it sacred.

I’ve come to understand: love doesn’t die. Energy doesn’t end. And your spirit hasn’t abandoned me. Quite the opposite—you have stepped into my heart and reassured me that you are with me anytime I need to tap into that spirit.

Because of your visits, I’ve learned to stop and enjoy the small things—like you did during that year and a half before you passed away. My awareness is palpable. Strikingly overwhelming at times, but I am grateful for the continued lessons I’m learning about you.

I’ve learned to meditate by sitting in the silence, breathing air into my lungs, and feeling your presence wrap around me like a soft embrace. I only remember the good times we shared. I don’t take your presence lightly—it is profound.

Our loved ones are not “lost.” They are transformed. They walk with us, whisper to us, and when we get quiet enough to listen, they answer.

Your mom did that with me after she passed—her first visit was when I had to be resuscitated during a very long and dangerous surgery. It only lasted a few minutes, but what took place with her seemed like much longer. When I opened my eyes, I was in Heaven. Your mom was there, holding her arms out, wanting me to run into them—and I did. Her eyes were as blue as I remembered, like the Caribbean Sea. She told me Heavenly Father had asked her to visit with me, and she instructed me about three things I still needed to do here on earth.

On that visit, your dad was there too. I hugged him and felt the strength of his embrace. I told him I didn’t want to go back—that my life was too hard. He didn’t hesitate. He waved his hand to his left and said, “Do you see those children playing? Those are your grandchildren, and they need your influence and example in their lives. Now it is time for you to return to your life on earth.”

Then he looked at your mother and said something I later found peculiar: “It’s time for Monya to go back to her life on earth, and it’s time for you and I to get back to work.” Get back to work? What did that mean? I had so many questions as I tried to make sense of what had happened to me that day.

The second time your mother appeared to me was in a dream. We walked through a beautiful garden as she explained one of her “jobs” in Heaven: she oversaw it. She asked me about you, whether you were treating me with love and respect, just as Ray had treated her. She asked if I was happy. We talked about spiritual things, and I remembered why I loved her so much. She still visits me in my dreams.

I felt it when my brother, Lance, passed away. I carried shame and guilt, wondering if I had taken him to the hospital that night instead of worrying about him keeping me awake, could I have saved him?

But when Lance visited me not long after his death, he placed his hand on mine as I prayed about him. I reveled in those moments, eyes closed, listening as he spoke. I heard him as if he were alive and standing beside me. He said:

"Monya, my death is not your fault. It was my time to go, and I am happy. Now it’s time for you to move out of Mom and Dad’s house and start living. Go and enjoy your new life with Eric—he is a good person."

And then he was gone.

When Jami was diagnosed with breast cancer, I knew I needed to visit her—but I didn’t. I felt uncomfortable. How could I face someone I loved so much, someone who had already suffered so deeply?

After her death, I punished myself with guilt for not going to her. That pain became even harder to bear when I was diagnosed with breast cancer myself.

But I began to pray about Jami, and the spirit I felt was hers. She assured me she knew I loved her—and she understood why I didn’t come. She told me that now, having received the same diagnosis, I would appreciate it. She reminded me to focus on the fight ahead. She told me I would be blessed through the process and that Heavenly Father would never leave my side.

She was right. I didn’t waste energy worrying about who came to visit or who said the wrong things. I gave grace—because I remembered how I felt with Jami. And when I told you that story, you were mesmerized. You asked why you’d never had experiences like that.

I’ll never forget what I said:
I told you that you didn’t need the reassurance like I did. You were raised in a very different environment from mine.

For me, those spiritual encounters kept me grounded, alive, conscious. They carried me when I felt I couldn’t go on. It wasn’t always easy—in fact, it was humiliating at times—but I made it through.

And finally, there was Black Rock Beach.

The Lord allowed you to visit me in the very place where you took your last breath. I believe He escorted you there and left us to share sacred time together.

You told me you saw me on the beach that day—you knew I would never be the same again. You told me about where you are. You said you are so happy that where you are, there are no negative feelings or thoughts. You said Heaven is real—it’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen. Then you shared your spiritual connection with Heaven and the life you now have. It was the first time I had ever seen you in this light, and it was so refreshing.

You told me you were excited to be allowed to visit me. And that I have a gift—a gift to feel the spirits of those we love who have passed.

You told me you knew you couldn’t help me any other way—but visiting me was enough. It was everything. You shared your love for the Lord and assured me He lives and loves us all. Those spiritual thoughts you shared with me are my favorite—because I had never heard you speak with such intention.

I know now, without a doubt, that there is life after death. And I can tune in to those feelings when needed. I didn’t want our moment to end. But when it did, I looked at my watch, stunned that we had spent four hours together.

I treasure your love and your presence in my life. I feel you often. And I am eternally grateful to Heavenly Father for that day on the beach—and for the life we shared.

As rocky as the beginning of our marriage was, I will always be proud of us—of our grit and determination to keep going. The world said we were a statistic, that we’d never make it. But we did. And we both know we had a beautiful love story. It is more evident to me now how much you love me.

Thank you for loving me the way you have, and for continuing to show me your beautiful, vulnerable heart. I love this part of you.

Now, when I feel that gentle tug in my soul—or the warmth over my entire body—I no longer wonder. I know.

I am a special daughter of God, protected and guided by the spirits of those who love me.

I am not alone.
I never was.
And neither are you.

I am in love with our eternal companionship.

I love you. And I look forward to seeing you again.

Love,
Me, your cute wifey

Easter 2025

 

Hello, My Lover,

It has been a whirlwind of activity — moving from a 5,000-square-foot home to a 2,100-square-foot one has kept me on my toes more than I ever expected.

Yesterday, I did something sweet. I invited the kids and grandchildren over to our Gilbert home for one last dinner and a Golden Egg hunt. As the grandkids searched for eggs, I could hear you in my head — cheering them on as each one found their egg with $20 inside. I could practically feel your wink when they succeeded. I miss your belly laugh… your smile… everything about the joy you brought to even the simplest moments.

Today is Easter, and I attended my new ward. The people there are so kind, and I felt a sense of peace in their presence. Do you remember when we were deciding to move from the house on Cove? We hunted for land, but what mattered most to me was the ward. I will never forget the spirit we felt when we visited the Sixth Ward together. Yesterday, as people introduced themselves and welcomed me, I felt that same spirit — a warm reminder that I am not alone. It’s a good ward, with a beautiful mix of children, youth, and many retired couples our age. This was my third week there, and I already feel welcomed and embraced.

I grew spiritually in that old ward, surrounded by so many dear people who helped build my testimony of Christ. Today, more than ever, I remember that Jesus Christ’s sacrifice assures me we will see each other again.

I arrived at church just a little late, and as I sat in the foyer, I gazed at the life-size picture of Christ. I pictured Him standing with you, and I had a quiet conversation with Him. I know He lives. I know I will see you again. I can’t fully understand why Heavenly Father allowed His Son to suffer, knowing the pain it would bring Him, but I know it was part of His plan — a plan of love and mercy that gives me hope.

The grandchildren are growing so fast. Haleigh and her family were unable to attend today, but she sent pictures of them — and oh, they are getting so big. Ellis is tall, and Sena was sweet as ever. She reminds me so much of Haleigh at her age. Haleigh has always been a kind, gentle soul. What a joy it was to raise her! I’ll never forget her senior year of high school — so many times, she would crawl into bed next to me just to be near me, no words needed. She was my fierce advocate during my cancer journey, even without knowing it.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Kayla lately. She and Jeremy are separated, and I fear their marriage may not survive. Kayla is an incredible mom and an amazing listener. I understand her more now, and through her, I’ve learned so much about Autism and the depth of patience it requires. Recker is fifteen now — big and strong like Jeremy —, and he often echoes what we say, letting me know he understands. When I say, I love you, he responds in his own beautiful way. Ezra is gentle and loving — just the other day, he ran back to me for a big hug that brought tears to my eyes. Teddy is thoughtful and kind, though he’s understandably confused about his parents’ separation.

You would be so proud of Blake. He has helped me tremendously this past year. You know he’s such a mama’s boy. He’s a hard worker, a great husband, and an incredible father. Chloe is thriving in her job at Denver’s office, and Weslie — sweet Wes — oh, she is a dancer like her mom, and she loves it. Yesterday, she kept hugging me and kept asking when she could have a “sleepover.” You know how much I adore that. She wondered about Papa — where you are, physically. I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to say something her parents wouldn’t like, so I told her how much you still love her, and that one day, when it’s my time to leave this life, I’ll be with you again. She listened earnestly — I’m not sure if she fully understood, but she wanted to be comforted.

Kaitlyn and Brian are excellent. Kaitlyn works from home and really enjoys her job. I am so proud of her in so many ways. Brian works hard, and I’m grateful that they continues to lean on the Lord together. I asked Brian if he would come and dedicate our new home in The Reserve — and of course, he said he would. He is solid in the Gospel, and I am so glad he is Kaitlyn’s partner.

Phoenix is ten now — growing so fast. He loves soccer and football, and life with such joy and friendships. And Archie… you know how my heart melts with that boy. Kaitlyn may say he’s sneaky, but I’ve never seen it — to me, he is all sweetness. I love how much Archie and Phoenix adore little Florence. I feel a little sorry for the boys who want to date her someday — she is something truly special. Something spiritual and radiant. Recently, she looked up at me and said, “Do you know Jesus died for all of us?” Oh my heart. I answered, “Yes, He did — and He loves you. He loves all the people in the whole world.” She is much like Kaitlyn was at that age—full of wonder and expression. Every time she sees me, she runs with her little arms wide open and yells, “Bonbon!” — and I can’t help but laugh and melt right into her arms.

I’m so grateful we have these children of ours. Every one of them holds a piece of my heart. They are responsible, good people — and their spouses are wonderful too.

I used to tell you how sad it was that they never got to know your mom. Now I fear they may forget you. I try to remind them — especially the little ones — how much you love them.

I love you, and I always will.

Love,
Monya

How Long Does it Take to Move?

Oh Frenchie

I love you so much… but the memories we collected in this home with our beautiful children make it so difficult to leave. Every corner of these rooms holds a moment — laughter, tears, growth, love — and though this house will no longer be ours, those memories are etched deep in my heart and mind. We had such a good life together, and I thank you for every bit of it.

It took me two months to go through all the receipts and bank statements you saved — trying to find proof about Dana. Kayla helped me by taking bags home to sort through, and last night we finally finished. I’m so glad that chapter is closed. I used to get so upset with you for leaving receipts and unopened mail everywhere. I never understood why you did it — but I do now. So, a big thank you for that. We found a lot of what we needed. I’ll admit, there were moments I wanted to be mad at you… But now I see your intentions with a new understanding and even some gratitude.

I’m scared, nervous, and eager all at once — all swirling together in a way I can’t quite sort out. A new way of life is coming for me. And honestly? I don’t like it. When I walk into that new house, I feel nothing. I don’t care. None of it means anything if I can’t share it with you.

I remember our first home on Seneca as if it were yesterday. You were so worried about providing for Kayla and me — the pressure weighed heavily on you. I see us on that sofa together, you explaining how much you wanted to do right by us. I remember saying, “I could live in a shoebox with you and be happy. Money? It’s just not that important.” I thought I meant that more than I really did. But I see now how important it was to you — not for greed, but for security, for stability, for family.

I remember when we got engaged, and your mom talked about her children. When she spoke about you, she looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes and told me how happy she was that you chose me — that we would build a family together. But she warned me gently: “Don’t let Eric love money more than he loves his family.” I’ve always known you loved your family more than anything. That was never the issue. You cared deeply about providing, but I always knew what truly mattered most to you — us.

No one knew you like I did. Even though you were successful in real estate, you never let it change who you were. You were humble. You were kind. And now, missing you has shown me just how rare and beautiful that combination really was. You loved your work — you loved making money — but never more than you loved our family. That was your heart.

Soon I will be moving — and I’m not sure how to do that gracefully without you. Some days it feels impossible. But thank you for loving me even when I wasn’t sure I deserved it. We had a beautiful love story — one that I will cherish forever. Remarriage is not part of my plans. I know in my soul I could never find another like you — and I don’t want to try.

I hope you are enjoying your new, beautiful life. The thought of your reunion with your parents brings tears to my eyes — but also a sense of peace. I look forward to seeing them and hugging them someday, just as I look forward to seeing you again. Until that time, I move forward — one day at a time — hoping I make you proud.

I love you — always and forever.

Love,
Monya

I Closed on the House

 Frenchie,

Today I did the walk-through on the house I purchased. I had Blake and Kayla with me, which helped so much. Not much needed fixing, but I asked them to take down the front railing so I could put out chairs and have room to sit. Honestly… am I ever really going to sit out front? It seems like such a small, strange thing, but most of the houses here have chairs out front — so of course, I had to do the same thing!

My stomach turned as I signed the closing papers. It made me sick. Part of me is still holding back, wanting to say, I don’t want to move. I want to stay in our home — the home you and I built together all those years ago. There are so many things I want but can’t have anymore. One of the biggest? You. I want you back. I want us back.

Since the house was being built, I only drove out there twice. Terry sent me pictures as it progressed, but quite honestly… I couldn’t care less. I knew the structure existed, but without you, it felt like just walls and wood.

After I left the closing, I came home and cried. I know the house is just a building, but the memories we made there — that’s what I’m leaving behind. I feel guilty — like I shouldn’t be making these big decisions without you. I still think we should make them together.

I put beams in the bedroom and my office, and brick on the walls too. I added a bathtub to the master bathroom — you know how excited I am for that first bubble bath! I even put a TV right above the bathtub — remember when we went to see Tim McGraw and Faith Hill in Las Vegas and our hotel had the TV over the bath? Yep… just like that. My favorite upgrade is the bathtub, but the ice machine comes in a close second! I know you wouldn’t have chosen any of those options, or add-ons, but I plan on staying in this house. I never want to move again. It’s hard work — emotionally and physically — but I’m trying.

I can’t tell you enough how much I miss you — your smell, your smile, your eye-rolls at me, that cute little grin you gave me so often, and even your runs to Costco and Sam’s Club. The move keeps me busy — and that distraction helps — but it’s still so weird to go to church without you. At least in the Sixth Ward, they knew me and understood why I couldn’t smile. I really don’t want to have to tell that story over and over again.

I loved being your wife — and being part of the Williams family. They have always treated me better than my own family ever did. Your mom and dad… they are the best. I miss them so much, too.

Thank you for loving me — in the good, the bad, the ugly, and through sickness and health. But the best promise we made to each other… that promise is what will bring us back together again.

See you soon.
Love,
Monya

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