The Good

Dear Shawn,

I can't believe I'm writing to you.  I've been so angry at you.  Does this mean I am starting to forgive you?  There is still a part of me that doesn't want to forgive you.  What you did was a really terrible thing.  And really, Shawn, your suicide was just the culmination of a lot of pretty terrible things you had done.

Do you deserve to have me remember the happy times we had?

Intellectually I know others would tell me this is a gift I give myself.

And I guess maybe I owe myself a nice birthday present after last year's doozy.

Shawn, when I think of our happy memories together they are always outside.  With the dogs.  In "the bus".

I remember how badly you wanted that VW when you saw it. 

We had only been living together a few months.  These were happy times when you were introducing me to so many new things in life - new genres of music, new foods, new books and the joy of hiking.

You came home and told me about how we could go camping in a bus like this one. 

We had already gone on one camping adventure.  Even though I had thought I would croak as we rode our bikes out to the Reservoir you encouraged me and we had a great time.

You told me about how we would have great camping adventures and I knew you were right.

As poor as we were, we found a way to buy that orange hippie bus!  You were so excited.  You went and bought an excellent stereo with the insurance money we got after the old lady scraped the side while you were test driving it and...coolest of all...you built a platform bed in the back that was just tall enough to store 5 gallon buckets of camping gear underneath.

We learned a lot on that first camping trip to Palisades.  Arriving at dark and trying to set up camp is difficult and cold, having a little whisk broom to sweep out leaves from your sleeping area is important and, most importantly, we learned that we made a great team in the outdoors.

This was the start of the years of adventure in the VW.

The next few years are a happy blur of memories of you, me and the doggies in the bus.

Push starting the bus all the way to Florida in December (remember how we had to look for gas stations with a hill so you had some help from gravity while you pushed?).

Camping all over the Midwest.

Packing up all our belongings and moving to Arizona with $1,000 to our name.  A couple of small-town kids showing up in a big city with no friends, no jobs and no place to live.  And we made it - it was no big deal because the hard things didn't seem to faze us.

Our biggest adventure - 3 months of camping where we visited every state west of the Mississippi looking for a place to start a business and a family.  Did we even have a disagreement that summer?  I don't remember a single one.

And then once again packing up all our belongings, three dogs and a cat to move to Fort Collins where we had no friends, no jobs and no place to live.  And again we made it!  It wasn't even hard because we were a team.

Just a year later starting the bike shop together.  We took a big risk on your dream and made it into something special over the next 10 years.

And then one last - and most important - adventure.  Our decision to have our beautiful children!

Wow, Shawn!  We built a pretty amazing life together.

The funny thing is that at some point you decided to quit living your life.

First it was just emotional.  You were gone.  I couldn't find the connection and I couldn't find you.

What was left was just a hollow, bitter, angry man.

And a year ago next week you decided to quit living your life physically.

You gave up on being outdoors.  You gave up on music.  You gave up on reading.  You gave up on savoring good food.  You gave up on your career.  You gave up on your kids.

And now you are gone.

You really are gone.

I'm sorry, Shawn.  It's still so hard to believe.

You were so young.

Jennifer