Goodbye letter To my husband Ryan, 

I still don’t know how to accept that you’re gone. It doesn’t feel real in the quiet moments, and it doesn’t feel real in the loud ones either. I thought we had more time, more memories, more plans. I know your soul is at rest, your mind is at peace, and your heart is whole again. You were someone who loved deeply, with so much emotion. Your life was a direct reflection of what it meant to truly care about people despite everything. You despised small talk. I can still hear your voice saying, “I don’t want to talk about the weather,” or “no one wants to hear about your lawn.” You longed for real connection and always wanted people to just be real. Your love for your son was unconditional. It had no limits. You created a world where he felt safe in your arms, where he could be free to fully be himself. Our house was full of laughter. The silly jokes (mostly about me) brought out a side of Jeremy that made his personality shine. It’s a side most people don’t see. His shy nature instantly faded with you, and he became loud, bold, funny, silly, and completely free to be himself. You taught him how to bowl, spending hours at the bowling alley. His love for swimming and being in the water came from you. Because of you, he now dreams of playing baseball, football, and golf. You are the greatest father. You were everything he needed in his five years of life, and you will forever be missed for the rest of his life. You loved your mom. You described her as one of the few people who would never turn her back on you: “that woman would burn down Crawford County for me.” She was your safe place when you felt like the world was against you. Your dad was your best friend. The memories you shared with him shaped you—your need to protect and provide, your work ethic, your love for music, movies, and sports. The way you walk, talk, look, and think is all a direct reflection of the man you looked up to as a child. Jason was your blueprint. “My uncle Jason changed his whole life.” You looked up to him. You watched him grow and rebuild his world, even when it seemed impossible. Your “aunt Christina,” or your “biggest sister,” loved you so much. When you needed someone to talk to, someone to listen to you, and laugh with you, you knew she was always one call away. There are so many more people who loved you deeply, and the memories you shared will forever remain with us. There is nothing more in this world that I want than to have you back, but Ryan, you are at peace. You have no more pain. You are free. God has you, so rest easy. I’m writing this letter because I want you to know that your life was valuable. It was precious and beautiful, even in the good and even in the bad. God had His hand over your life. I choose to believe He didn’t take you too soon, but saved you from this broken world so you could finally find the peace of God and live forever in paradise.