I’m not sure anymore, what I think heaven is like. I used to believe, really believe in all that the Bible said, but not anymore. My faith is convoluded at best and nonexistent at its worst. But today, today I had to believe that heaven was right here on earth. Not for me, I don’t mean to imply that today was my sort of heaven, I faced a lot of fears and cried a lot of tears today, but for James, I have to believe that perhaps he was right here today, making this his heaven for the moment.

The pile of brush from last fall was daunting. James barely had enough in him to clear the fallen trees, and so the pile that was normally neat and ready to burn was all but a mess. I had cleared it enough a month or so ago to make the drive to the barn passable, but this massive pile of branches and roots bothered my need-things-to-be-tidy self and so I spent more time in a yellow seat, scared to death of rolling the tractor – moving branches twice my height to a burn pile and clearing out the mess from last fall. To me, it meant facing my fears of the tractor, but to James’, well, this was precisely his kind of day.

With a high of 65 degrees, the sun felt magnificent today. I spent the entire time in the yellow seat talking with James. I needed him with me, to guide me, to help me, to calm my fears of the tractor tipping over. I needed him today. But I know that he would have relished the project. He would have loved the time on the tractor, the time clearing the brush out, the time making room for the compost and all that the garden will need in the upcoming weeks. He would have loved today. And so I did everything I could to love it for him.

Usually, we would have both been working near each other even if not on the same task, but today I had to deal with all the brush and then tackle the asparagus patches in the garden. We didn’t exactly prioritize the garden last fall, so the dead stalks, hollow pumpkins and all the supports and detrius from the harvest were still present. Heck, there are still carrots in the ground. Being in the garden without him feels like the worst sort of hell I can imagine. Second only, perhaps to being alone on the porch, the garden was a shared place of work; he had the tasks that he enjoyed and I had mine and together they made a beautiful, abundant garden. But today, while I kept an eye on the bonfire of branches, I weeded alone. Tackling only two of the raised beds, the road ahead to harvest is daunting at best, one that I’m not even sure I will engage fully in this year, but the asparagus and next the strawberries will bless me with their abundance with little effort on my part and so I dug my hands in the dirt and I sucked up the silence.

I feel stuck. I can look all around me and see this absolutely beautiful property, this amazing farm, this gorgeous home and I can be so full of anger. I don’t want it without him. I don’t want anything without him.

I sat on the porch for a while, my hands cut and bruised like his always were. I listened to the chickens and I watched Trudy in the yard and I looked out over all our dreams and I just cannot for the life of me feel the joy that we shared. I am just so pissed off. My words to the heavens are not kind. My prayers all went unanswered and I am left with nothing but heartache and sorrow. Sorrow so deep I fear it will consume me. I want you back. I want you here. I want our life back.

Today is the kind of day you and I loved the most. Warm temps, budding flowers, signs of spring everywhere, days like this felt like heaven. Whatever our to-do list, we would have spent the day together. They were my favorite kind of days. They were yours, too. Wherever you are, I hope it is heavenly. Truly, I hope so. But here, without you, it’s nothing short of hell.