I’m widowed and I got a love letter from Jon, my husband, this week. It arrived in my psyche – unbidden – during a conversation with a friend.

Some widows talk to their husbands every day. Some husbands talk back. I don’t talk to Jon. Why? I’m a skeptic for one thing. And so was he.

But more to the point – conjuring Jon too vividly sends me to tears. Soon I’m sobbing and spraying my glasses with tears, and whatever I was about to do in that moment doesn’t get done.

So, no, I don’t talk to Jon, and he doesn’t talk back. Not that I know of.

But this week, out of the blue, I got a love letter from Jon. It arrived in spite of myself, in spite of Jon. It had to do with this house of ours.

Glum Thoughts

I’ve been thinking about our house and our backyard these past weeks, and my thoughts have been glum. What’s the point, I think? What’s the point of finishing the backyard project we started five years ago?

Why not let it go to weedy grass like our neighbors? Forget the manzanita, the salvia, the Pacific irises. Let the wild grass grow. Whack it back every spring in time for fire season. Why not?

Forty-four Action-Packed Years

I got a lot done during my 44 years of marriage with Jon. My days were action packed. Get the living room rug cleaned. Shop for dish towels. Hold down a job. Find summer camps for the kids. Get my book published. Clean the grout from around the kitchen sink.

For 44 years, I lived my life. I did what I wanted to do. That’s a fact. But some part of me was aiming it all at Jon.

Yes, I was trying to be helpful in this marriage. Yes, I wanted to hold up my end of things. But I was also leading a life I thought would entertain my husband, keep him amused.

I didn’t know this at the time. I didn’t know how much I was counting on being seen by Jon. I didn’t know how much I liked giving him something to see: me writing a book, me scrubbing grout with a toothbrush.

And now he’s gone. So, what’s the point? Who am I entertaining these days with my antics, literary and domestic?

What now is the point of finishing the backyard garden we’d planned? The one designed to be gazed upon from above, from our brand-new deck a glass of wine in hand?

Widowed: A Love Letter From Jon

I was wondering all this when my friend, also a widow, described the house she’d just bought. It’s what she and her partner had long envisioned for themselves. Now the house is a reality, and it makes my friend happy. “It’s a love letter,” she said.

That’s it. Of course. Jon and I bought this house, with its steep backyard, together. We fixed it up together. It’s is not a sorry remnant of a former life. It’s a love letter. It’s a gift from Jon.

And so, yes, there will be manzanita. There will be salvia. There will be native fern and coastal iris.

I’ll look down on our garden from above, from our deck, as planned. And if I can bring myself to think of Jon, I’ll thank him.

More about the house remodel project that Jon and I undertook at “Too Many Walls and Not Enough Bathrooms at Our House.”  And here’s one about our backyard before we started fixing it up: “I’ve Got a Pile of Antique Bricks in My Backyard.”