Darling Kate,

You looked so beautiful today. So beautiful that I had to stop for a moment and force myself to breathe. It shouldn't be possible. But then, that's you all over, isn't it? Defying the odds.

You were wearing your dress uniform. Well, actually, it wasn't your dress uniform. It was a new one. Your old one has a bullet hole in it. Your eyes were shut as you lay there. Apart from the absence of the rise and fall of your chest, you could have been asleep.

I remember at the funeral home when they let me say goodbye to you, you were cold. You were cold even as the heat of my tears fell on your face. You were cold even with the warmth of my sobs against your neck.

I touched my face to yours, and I imagined what you would have said, if you had the breath to say it. You'd probably have asked me what the hell I was doing, and pushed me away.

Always pushing me away Kate. But how I longed for you to do so that day.

I got to hold you. But you were cold. You were lifeless. You lay there while I sobbed over you.

They got the bastard that did this to you. He was stupid, shooting you in a graveyard full of cops. They got him, and you know what I did. I walked over there and I punched him hard enough to knock him out. I broke my hand on his face, but it wasn't enough. I wanted to kick him. I wanted to tear him to shreds. I wanted him to bleed out all over the green, green grass. The same way you had just done. Only for him, there would be no comfort in the arms of his partner. For him, there would be no long awaited declaration of love.

Slipping away from the world cannot be easy. I hope I made the transition as smooth as possible. I hope you found comfort in my words. Know that I meant them. I love you, Kate. More than anyone I've ever met. My love for you is matched only by my love for Alexis.

Speaking of my daughter, she's distraught too. I always knew she respected you, but she says you were friends. It appears that the two of you spent more time together than I ever knew about. I asked you to take care of her if something happened to me. I never even considered what she'd do if something happened to you.

My mother told me that there are five stages of grief. I definitely suffered through the first three, but I have yet to reach the fifth. And the fourth has been the underlying current since the shot rang out.

The first one is denial. After I'd finished hitting the bastard who did this to you, I ran back up to where you lay. The paramedics and Lanie sat next to you. Lanie was crying. One of the paramedics said 'I'm so sorry, there's nothing we can do.' I yelled at him, screamed really. I told him not to be so stupid. I begged him to take you to the hospital. Lanie took my hand and made me touch your neck, made me feel that there was no pulse. But I refused to believe it. I couldn't. Alexis ran to me and we held each other. I screamed until I went hoarse.

I couldn't speak for a few days afterwards. Not that I wanted to. But God, every time I opened my mouth and heard the scratchy broken sound masquerading as my voice my thoughts snapped right back to you. Lying there on the grass.

I still buy your coffee every morning. In that respect, I don't think that you move from stage to stage of grief, but rather each stage piles on top of the previous ones, until you cannot breathe from the weight of them all. I have seen the other stages, but I am still in denial. Even today, the day we buried you.

The second stage is anger. I think that one came first in a way, what with me knocking out your killer. But it really kicked in when I got home. I went into my office and I destroyed everything related to Nikki Heat. I burnt the books, I smashed my laptop. I'd already thrown a glass at the latest cover art earlier in the week, but someone had set it back up. So I burnt that too. I tore my entire study to shreds. I couldn't look at any of it. Because every time I did I thought of you.

The anger is still there. Situations that I'd usually be able to deal with are suddenly too much for me to handle. I yell at Alexis all the time. I thought that she'd just take it, but she screams right back at me. I guess she's in the anger stage too, although she isn't as deeply sucked in as I am.

The third stage is bargaining. You know I'm not in any way religious, but I prayed to every higher power that I could think of. If they brought you back, I'd give myself. If they brought you back to me just for ten minutes, so I could tell you again, tell you properly, how much I love you. I knew it wouldn't work, but that didn't stop me from trying.

You know, they asked me to do the eulogy. As I stood there, I looked over to my side, the same way you had done when you had to read the eulogy at the Captain's funeral. I looked around, seeking your eyes, but I never found them. I like to think that you heard what I said, but I'm going to write it out here anyway.

I don't need to stand here and tell all of you how much I loved Kate, because all of you saw it. You saw it even when I couldn't. When you love someone, it feels as though you are connected by a cord. That cord keeps you balanced, each of you a weight on each end. And if, suddenly, there is nothing on the other end of that cord, you lose your balance. You fall into nothing, head first, and you don't even care because the other half of your whole could be down there waiting, and you would go to the ends of the earth to get to them. Kate and I fought, we bickered. I teased her, and she frustrated me. But she knew I was always going to be there. Even though she sometimes told me to leave, she never thought that I actually would. I proved it to her, time and time again, that I was never going to give up. Not when it came to her. I can't tell you if Kate loved me, because I never got to have that conversation with her. I never got to show her just how much she meant to me. I left it too late. Kate Beckett was a fantastic detective. A strong, empathetic, brilliant woman. A loyal friend, an incredible partner. I was in awe of Kate Beckett. I was lost, tired of the predictability of my life. My life was mundane, but then I met Kate. And she showed me what life could be. Kate helped me to find myself again. Kate Beckett was extraordinary, and I will love her always.

Once I was done reading, the only dry eyes in the house were mine. Even Esposito sobbed. When I went to your apartment and told you to think about the people that love you, I know you couldn't really think of anyone. I wish you could have seen the church, Kate. It was packed. People were crammed in, forced to stand. Everyone had such an enormous respect for you. You touched so many lives. Everyone in that room loved you.

I can't say why I didn't cry. Perhaps I'd run low on tears at that point. Or maybe I was just so deep in hell that even crying was past my capabilities.

The fourth stage is depression. Depression is a strange creature. I feel its embrace in the middle of the night. It is not warm, it is cold and icy. It makes my body shake. It makes me have thoughts about things I would never have dreamt of. Depression is the reason why every time I walk into a room I immediately assess all the different ways I could kill myself. The only thing that I can see through the darkness is Alexis, but some days even she isn't enough.

The fifth stage is acceptance. I doubt I will ever reach it. I'm trying to be strong. I imagine that you would be disappointed with me. You came to accept your mother's death in time. I don't know that I can ever accept yours. I will try. I promise you that, I owe you that much. But then what is the point? You aren't here to get mad at me for giving up. You aren't here to help me through hell. You aren't here, and you never will be again.

I'm going to finish the book, Kate. I owe it to you. It will be my way of paying my last respects. I'm going to finish it and then I'm going to stop writing. How could I ever write again, ever find inspiration again? I don't know what I'll do. I won't go back to the precinct, I couldn't. Not without you. It holds too many memories. I don't need to work, if I downsized my lifestyle I could live comfortably for the rest of my days. Except I wouldn't really be living. Who knows Kate, maybe once the book is done; I'll come and join you, wherever you are.

All my love, always.

Rick