To my dearest, wonderful, Babe, Hugo J.

by Elisa M.
(New York)

Dearest Hugo,

Through the letters I write to you, and if you are really watching over me, hearing me and knowing my thoughts, then you definitely know how broken my heart is, how very much I miss you that I can't put it into words, and how each second of each day and night I do not know how I have still managed to exist here without you. We were truly one, and when you took your last breath in my arms on that beautifully Summer night (a night you and I would have taken a walk) hand in hand, instead, you were holding on to your life for me, and I finally knew I had to release you, my precious husband, best friend, partner, and love of my life. Everything about you I loved, but now you are gone, and I look at pictures of you, your clothes, your car, your tools, everything is you, it surrounds me, but you will never wear the clothes again. You will never use your tools again, you will never eat meals with me again. We will never make decisions together again. And your dreams were just taken away from you. You worried about what would happen to me, well, I cry a lot, I am very lonely, sad, and sometimes, I am sorry to tell you this, I often wish I could join you. Life is not the same, never will be -- you were such a strong presence; I hurt that you are gone, that you wanted to stay, that you suffered from the pancreatic cancer that took your life--we were shocked you were sick, we tried everything, and while you always managed to face and turn things around in life no matter what, you could not beat this lethal illness. You managed to get back from Vietnam, but this "cancer war" beat you down. The strong man I married, still had the same heart, but you were completely changed body-wise and even mind-wise by the cancer. It was a nightmare watching what it did to my happy, positive husband. When I think of what you went through, from beginning to end, that hurts me too.

I still beg for God to let you come back. I know, you're saying I should not do that. Babe, that's how much I miss you and don't know how to deal with you being dead. That is a final, horrible word, and attached to your name, it is unreal.

I love you, I hope you know it, and I hope you remember me. Forever, your devoted, crying and ailing wife, Elisa