Your favorite 3-year-old and I are curled up in your blanket. You’re giving me a hug right now—a hug I desperately wish was real.

It’s been 6 weeks now. I haven’t heard your voice or felt your touch for 7 weeks. When I let myself think about you for more than a couple seconds, I still feel sick and have trouble coming to terms with reality. But, I think you’d be so proud of me for the way I survived this week.

It still feels like survival with out you here. However, I also thrived and I know you must be watching and smiling. I pray that you are, and that you’re with me, and that I will have the strength to keep going on this journey in a big and meaningful way.

I was really brave in class, I have 4 clients I start seeing in just a few days, I am intentionally working on eating adequate breakfasts, and I’m doing a podcast on eating disorder recovery! Yesterday, I gave away the last couple things that don’t fit well, because I bought them at the lowest point of my eating disorder. I’ve been present enough to feel the dialectic: excited and anxious. Happy and sad. Optimistic and depressed.

I coped with help from the Wolfpack—your husband is an honorary member! Though, I’m still working on both members to skydive 😉. If you could just give them a little push…

I coped with your blanket. I coped by trying my hardest to sleep and eat well and drink enough water. I coped by paying attention to my breath more often, and putting my hand on my heart. I coped by praying to God and crying to you. I coped by writing here, and leaning into my purpose—the purpose you so gently were a part of helping me find. I coped by talking to my husband more and focusing on love and gratitude and kindness in as many moments of the day as I could muster.

This morning as soon as I opened my eyes tears formed because I’d forgotten you weren’t here. The sting of reality is still so raw and painful. I don’t think it’s going to leave anytime soon and sometimes I have to stop what I’m doing to cry because it’s the only way to relieve some of the sorrow for missing you.

K**, please come back be with me in the room with my first clients. I need you. Gosh, I need you. God, I need her.

This hurts so much.

I love you,


2 thoughts on “Dear K, (letter #4)

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