Apart from the 13 pounds, not much about my physical appearance has changed. My hair is still short, and on a windy day, I resemble Edward Scissorhands. My smile, although sometimes forced, remains toothy. My clothes are still very (as you would say) “librarian.” Wearing makeup is a hit or miss…usually a miss. For all intents and purposes, I am still Ashli. But I am not YOUR Ashli. She’s been gone for 6 months now. Life is so different. The days are different. I wish you’d text or email asking what I want for dinner. The nights suck. I fall asleep finally because I’m so exhausted from sobbing. On the weekends…I just have to take the kids and get out of the house.
I want to talk to you so badly. No. I want to listen to you so badly. I want you to tell me something good—Rufus and Chaka Khan style. I want you to tell me what you’re doing. What you’re thinking. I find myself constantly thinking about what was going on this time last year. This time last year you were recording every Astros game. You watched every one of them. I haven’t watched ESPN since November. No Mike and Mike in the morning. No Sportscenter afterward. No SC Featured. No E:60. No OTL. I didn’t even realize it was draft time until day 2. These things mean so little to me when you’re not around to excite over them. I’m dreading football season. Who will I watch the Cowboys with? I’m sitting on the chaise crying over the 2016 NFL season.
And I know you’re laughing at me the way you did when I broke Jordan’s Disney ornament, or when the strap to the sandal I wore to our wedding broke, or when you ‘fessed up that you didn’t like our dishes. And I miss that. I miss you being around for every day, mundane stuff. Filling up our DVR with hours of Astros footage. Making dinner because you have this new found love for cooking. Unwrapping Jolly Ranchers and nursing them for far too long. Flossing your teeth at the table. You are in every room of this house and then again you’re nowhere to be seen. I don’t want to clean out your side of the closet. I don’t want to empty your drawers, I don’t want to take the remaining candy out of your nightstand. And I know you’d say, “Then don’t,” but I just wish you were here to say it.
Half a year has already passed. How? I sometimes feel like I haven’t left this bed in 6 months. But I’ve been to the other side of the world. I’ve become better about getting out and not diving into self-pity. However, there are nights like tonight when sleep eludes me and sorrow overwhelms me. Time drags. It’s like the clock hates me and wants me to wallow in the days without you. I miss the talking so much. More than anything else. No one consoled, joked, admonished, praised, reminded, uplifted, or taught me as well as you did. I know that you’re not at all concerned with any of these things, but it makes me feel a little better to share them with you as if you didn’t know (SPOILER ALERT):
-Mike and Rachel don’t get married, yet. He’s going to prison for 2-3 years and he expects her to wait for him. I’m guessing she’s pregnant and will have a baby, or Mike will find a new girlfriend while he’s locked up.
-Mockingjay ended just as terribly as the book suggested.
-I haven’t watched any of the recorded episodes of Blacklist, so I get back to you on this one.
-Bernadette is pregnant and Raj is dating two girls.
-We’re studying the 5 Love Languages in class and guess what?! My primary language is not gifts! I know, right? Words of affirmation and quality time. Gifts was 3rd. We had it all wrong. Thank you for the gifts.
-The babies are talking up a storm. We pray for you every night. This evening we drove past the cemetery. They poured the slab for your stone. Should be soon.
-I took Thurgood to go get his haircut. No more, “Good morning ladies!” for us when we walk into church. You wouldn’t like how short it is, but considering how disappointed I was initially, you would’ve reminded me that it’ll grow back. Thurgood says all three syllables of Tallulah’s name, although sometimes it comes out as, “Kahlua.” He loves Ninja Turtles so much. The suggestion of putting anything else on TV brings him to tears. The past several days he hasn’t gone anywhere without his horsies, turtle, and dinosaur. I thought we were going to have a mommy-son date night and go buy some new animals. Tallulah crashed it and tagged along. We went to the tractor supply store. We won’t be going back. Aside from the kids dragging out every animal and car figurine, the prices were outrageous (But man, are those some sturdy horses! I ran over one of them in the drive way. Not a scratch).
-Lulah dances. Everyday. Sometimes Samba. Every time she says, “Shake your booooty!” Anytime someone comes home, she races to the door screaming. She wraps her arms around their leg and closes the door behind them. She loves school. Today she was standing on the pew during chapel, and she fell and hit her cheek. She loves to dance, but she hasn’t a graceful bone in her body. She likes to play judge and jury. She made me sit in time out and apologize for disciplining Thurgood. She calls out for you when she’s inconsolable and she knows why we go to the cemetery. She points to my tattoo (I got a tattoo, by the way. It’s a tiny cross on my wrist. Several people have mistaken it for a mole) and says, “Daddy.” “Yep. Daddy is with Jesus,” is the reply.
-I feel like everything is weak lately. My drive. My parenting. My worship and study. My thankfulness. My sick dance moves. My self-control. It’s all there, but not in full-effect. It’s just weak. If you wouldn’t mind putting a bug in God’s ear for me please. I’m sure you already have. I miss you Trav. I hope you get this letter, but I know you’re busy being awestruck. I love you. You’re still my LOML.
I want to talk to you so badly. No. I want to listen to you so badly. I want you to tell me something good—Rufus and Chaka Khan style. I want you to tell me what you’re doing. What you’re thinking. I find myself constantly thinking about what was going on this time last year. This time last year you were recording every Astros game. You watched every one of them. I haven’t watched ESPN since November. No Mike and Mike in the morning. No Sportscenter afterward. No SC Featured. No E:60. No OTL. I didn’t even realize it was draft time until day 2. These things mean so little to me when you’re not around to excite over them. I’m dreading football season. Who will I watch the Cowboys with? I’m sitting on the chaise crying over the 2016 NFL season.
And I know you’re laughing at me the way you did when I broke Jordan’s Disney ornament, or when the strap to the sandal I wore to our wedding broke, or when you ‘fessed up that you didn’t like our dishes. And I miss that. I miss you being around for every day, mundane stuff. Filling up our DVR with hours of Astros footage. Making dinner because you have this new found love for cooking. Unwrapping Jolly Ranchers and nursing them for far too long. Flossing your teeth at the table. You are in every room of this house and then again you’re nowhere to be seen. I don’t want to clean out your side of the closet. I don’t want to empty your drawers, I don’t want to take the remaining candy out of your nightstand. And I know you’d say, “Then don’t,” but I just wish you were here to say it.
Half a year has already passed. How? I sometimes feel like I haven’t left this bed in 6 months. But I’ve been to the other side of the world. I’ve become better about getting out and not diving into self-pity. However, there are nights like tonight when sleep eludes me and sorrow overwhelms me. Time drags. It’s like the clock hates me and wants me to wallow in the days without you. I miss the talking so much. More than anything else. No one consoled, joked, admonished, praised, reminded, uplifted, or taught me as well as you did. I know that you’re not at all concerned with any of these things, but it makes me feel a little better to share them with you as if you didn’t know (SPOILER ALERT):
-Mike and Rachel don’t get married, yet. He’s going to prison for 2-3 years and he expects her to wait for him. I’m guessing she’s pregnant and will have a baby, or Mike will find a new girlfriend while he’s locked up.
-Mockingjay ended just as terribly as the book suggested.
-I haven’t watched any of the recorded episodes of Blacklist, so I get back to you on this one.
-Bernadette is pregnant and Raj is dating two girls.
-We’re studying the 5 Love Languages in class and guess what?! My primary language is not gifts! I know, right? Words of affirmation and quality time. Gifts was 3rd. We had it all wrong. Thank you for the gifts.
-The babies are talking up a storm. We pray for you every night. This evening we drove past the cemetery. They poured the slab for your stone. Should be soon.
-I took Thurgood to go get his haircut. No more, “Good morning ladies!” for us when we walk into church. You wouldn’t like how short it is, but considering how disappointed I was initially, you would’ve reminded me that it’ll grow back. Thurgood says all three syllables of Tallulah’s name, although sometimes it comes out as, “Kahlua.” He loves Ninja Turtles so much. The suggestion of putting anything else on TV brings him to tears. The past several days he hasn’t gone anywhere without his horsies, turtle, and dinosaur. I thought we were going to have a mommy-son date night and go buy some new animals. Tallulah crashed it and tagged along. We went to the tractor supply store. We won’t be going back. Aside from the kids dragging out every animal and car figurine, the prices were outrageous (But man, are those some sturdy horses! I ran over one of them in the drive way. Not a scratch).
-Lulah dances. Everyday. Sometimes Samba. Every time she says, “Shake your booooty!” Anytime someone comes home, she races to the door screaming. She wraps her arms around their leg and closes the door behind them. She loves school. Today she was standing on the pew during chapel, and she fell and hit her cheek. She loves to dance, but she hasn’t a graceful bone in her body. She likes to play judge and jury. She made me sit in time out and apologize for disciplining Thurgood. She calls out for you when she’s inconsolable and she knows why we go to the cemetery. She points to my tattoo (I got a tattoo, by the way. It’s a tiny cross on my wrist. Several people have mistaken it for a mole) and says, “Daddy.” “Yep. Daddy is with Jesus,” is the reply.
-I feel like everything is weak lately. My drive. My parenting. My worship and study. My thankfulness. My sick dance moves. My self-control. It’s all there, but not in full-effect. It’s just weak. If you wouldn’t mind putting a bug in God’s ear for me please. I’m sure you already have. I miss you Trav. I hope you get this letter, but I know you’re busy being awestruck. I love you. You’re still my LOML.
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