Lindsey

I set out to write something in an effort to make sense of the Mitch Lundgaard incident. I needed to try to get whatever was in my head, out. Not for anyone else. Selfishly, I did it just to wrap my own mind around the whole thing. As I wrote, I found that I just couldn’t get it right. Nothing worked. Nothing flowed.

To be clear, I do not have ANY connection to Mitch. As far as I know, I’ve never met him. I never met his family. I have no tie to his life or the event that took him from those who love him. What I do have is that I have been a fire fighter/EMT, and because of that, I started thinking about what I’d want people to know……especially those I love most, should my life be taken away from me, like Mitch’s was.  I ended up with what you’re about to read….an open letter to Mitch’s wife, Lindsey. I don’t know Lindsey, and I won’t pretend to understand her pain. Or her family’s pain. I need to be very clear on that. What I was hoping to capture are the words that anyone who is a firefighter, an EMT, a paramedic, or a police officer, would want their loved ones to hear, should their life be taken from them unexpectedly. 

Lindsey Lundgaard, should you come across this, I hope that these words bring you some peace. From my heart to yours…..

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Lindsey,

I guess things didn’t go the way we thought they were going to, huh? If I had my way, I’d be there right now. I’d be next to you. If I had some universal power to be able to come back, just for a second, I’d give up my soul for that. 

If I knew that that day was gonna be my last, I’d have held you real close just a little bit longer that last time. From up here, I can see you, and with every sunrise and every sunset, it’s clear to me why I loved you then, and why I still do now. You look even more beautiful from up here, especially right before sunset. You are so beautiful in that last bit of light.  

You are beautiful, and you know what else? You look beautiful as a mother, too. I miss that part of who you are…..the “mom” part. I miss parenting with you. You, me, Evan, Logan, and Ryan. Our little team. I miss it all…..and my heart is warm knowing that you’re gonna be ok raising them. Because they’ll help you. They’ll be me.

And I need you to see “me” in the faces of our boys. I need you to hear me, too. And here’s the part where I need you to do me a favor…..I need you to celebrate those moments when they happen. Lindsey, can you do this for me?  Because that would help me up here. Knowing you think of me and smile would mean more to me than I will ever be able to tell you. Down there, or up here. 

Our time together was too short. You, me, and the boys….it was just too short. But it was all worth it, even if the grief breaks your heart now. No grief is big enough to ever take away that kind of love. Our love, all of it, that’s what is gonna get you through it all. Because, Lindsey, you and the boys ARE me. 

Lindsey….I need you to listen to me now. I need you to listen really close to me. I got work to do up here, and I gotta go do it now. The part of me that loved to help people down there must have come along up here, because it’s still with me. And I need you to remember me with every sunset, and every sunrise, and every time the thunder hits, and when the flash of lightning brightens the sky…..that’s me. That’s how it works, now. That’s how I reach you. 

I gotta go now, hun. If you need me, I’ll be up here. And don’t think I don’t know that you won’t always be able to feel me there. That’s the thing about love, especially unrequited love….it takes a little faith and trust to feel it.

Until I see your face again…..