A Letter to You

Dear Jan,

I tried today. I tried to listen to our song, our silly song. Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry. You loved that song, said that you couldn’t help but move to it. I remember the very first time we met. You came to help me move, a total stranger. We were stuck in a moving truck for hours. Half-way to our destination you turned to me and said…

“I have 2 things to say. 1. I want to have sex with your boyfriend. 2. You have a nice set of tits.”

I paused, then looked at you out of the corner of my eye. And I said “I’ll think about it. And thanks.”

Thus began our friendship. I always counted on you to be blunt, straight forward and brutally honest. We had some rough times when we began our journey in to bdsm. Remember that first year? We fought so much. I really didn’t think we would make it sometimes. You had no idea how to be a live-in submissive, you had no idea how to deal with a teenaged girl. And there were times I had no idea how to deal with you or the teenager.

You were just starting your recovery. I prayed for you every single night. I lived in fear of you slipping, I rejoiced in your successes. I cheered you when I saw things go “click”. You started taking your recovery seriously, and I felt relief. I knew the journey you were on would be hard, at times perilously so. You did everything balls to the wall.

Our journey finally got through its rough patch and we settled into a domestic routine that worked for us. You found such comfort in the small things, like serving me coffee.

Goddess…you know it’s taken me 3 months to make it like you did? And it still doesn’t taste quite right.

We all miss you. The spawn had a breakdown the other day. She saw a car just like mine and a woman who looked like you. She grabbed my shoulder from the backseat of C’s truck and just sobbed. She hasn’t begun to deal yet. I pray for her too, every night. She won’t come out and say it, but she misses you. She’s never lost someone close to her before, she doesn’t know how to handle it. Be patient with her.

The rest of the family…well…they are dealing as well. Each of them in their own way.

I cry sometimes at night. I haven’t been able tovhear your voice, or see your spirit. And I’m gifted in that area. I wonder why. I get angry. I rail and scream and.pound my fists on the pillows. Your pillows. They don’t smell like you anymore.

I’m so lost without you some days. I find myself wanting toshare abstory with you, and I look at the door with anticipation at 6:30, just knowing you’re about to walk in the door. I want to share stories about the baby with you, tell you about her smiles, her laugh. I want you to see how beautiful she is.

I can only hope you are watching us from the safety of the Mothers arms. I pray you are at peace, without pain and surrounded by love and laughter.

But the selfish part of me still wants you here. And that is so selfish. I know how much pain you were in, even though you rarely complained.  I’m sorry for that, but I just can’t let that thought go. Please forgive me.

I love you Jan. I always will.

With love,



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