My dearest, Kagome

It's been a year. Our daughter still asks of you; I am struggling to find new excuses for her. I can't bring myself to tell her mommy isn't coming back, that mommy died because her organs failed her after 7 long, heart wrenching months in a coma in the ICU. That the reason she died is because one day at work a man walked in with a gun and started shooting. She doesn't even know what a gun is yet. She didn't go to your funeral, I'm sorry. I know it must have broken your heart to see your little girl wasn't next to me as we lowered your coffin, but I couldn't bring her with me that day.

I simply couldn't.

All this to say, I am running out of excuses. Every time she asks of you, I stop breathing for a few seconds, looking into her tiny light brown eyes, wondering what I'm going to say this time. And each time, I make something up. You're always on a trip, in some new country, with a new job. Every once in a while, I buy a toy on my way home from work, put it in a box, label it and hand it to her. I always say mommy got it for her from whatever country you're "in" now. I've done this for the past few months. I'm not sure what I'm going to say once she catches onto my trick, though. She's always been so smart, just like her mother. She's been doing great in schoo lately, Kagome. She won the 1st grade spelling bee competition last week, I sadly couldn't make it, but Miroku and Sango went in my place. She was happy enough with them. I can hear you already telling me off for not making it. I'm sorry! Ever since you've passed, I've had to pick up another job as an adjunct professor at another college, your alma mater. I teach history there. A little different from my usual teaching subject...but close enough.

I'm eating well, err, at least better than I was at first. Kaede comes over every few days and makes Moroha and I real food. She makes sure the house is orderly, as we both know that my slobbish ways were your biggest pet-peeve in taking me as your husband. My office has remained the same as always. Maps, artifacts and compasses strewn about. My bookcase has yet to be organized, and so many books are shoved into the top crevices of the bookshelves, jammed in there like I would jam clothes into my luggage when I would go on expeditions. Kaede has tried repeatedly to persuade me to let her clean my office, as she finds just peering into it enough to induce her claustrophobia. Each time, however, I tell her know. She doesn't ask why, but it's because this is how my office was last left when we had that disagreement (as you can see, I still refuse to call it an argument). It truly is silly now that I think about it. All you asked is if I could pretty please pick up some of my mess. I refused.

We argued. Went to bed mad at each other. The next day the unthinkable happened.

I'll regret that day for the rest of my life now.

Essentially, the state of my office is the last memory I have of you. Well, this coupled with your clothes is all I have left of you physically being here. Your scent is gone now. The day I entered our home and couldn't smell you anymore was the day I finally cried. I remember coming in, and taking off my shoes, placing them by the door next to the last pair of shoes you took off inside the house. When I set down my suitcase, I took a deep breathe, and noticed that the only scent in the air was mine, and our daughters. Yours had gone.

I try not to think about that day too much—lest I cry. I try not to show Moroha how badly your passing has affected me, I hope I'm doing a good job putting up a good front. But most nights, when I'm alone, and reach toward your side of the bed and am met with nothingness...

It hurts, Kagome.

I'm sorry.

I wasn't the best friend, or the best boyfriend, or husband. I am, however trying to be the best father I can be, for her.

She's the only thing keeping me going now, Kagome.

I spend my friday nights alone, as I send Moroha to Miroku and Sango's house, like we used to when we would have our date nights.

I sit on the couch in the dark, and have a glass of wine.

Cabernet. 2015. Your favorite.

Then I listen to your favorite song.

Roslyn, by Bon Iver. Sometimes, I'll listen to it till I fall asleep.

I eat alone, at a table set for two. I light a candle, and say a prayer in your name.

I pray you're alright up there. I hope you got put on the biggest cloud.

This is the first of many letters I will write to you, my dearest.

I miss you.

I love you...so much.

Forever yours,

Inuyasha.