"I'll love you forever", he said with a smile

Six years ago today I married a good man. A man who was warm, gentle and caring. A man who was there when I needed him and who needed me. A man who was loved and respected more than he realized. I married a man who was everything a good man ought to be.



It was Friday, June 18, 2010 at three o'clock in the morning when the phone rang.  It's one of those calls you hope is a wrong number, a call at that time is sure to be bad news.  My intuition was right. "I'm sorry", the emergency nurse said, "the paramedics did all they could do".  An unrecognizable ululation filled the room and I realized it was coming from me.  Immediately, the "why" and "what if"  began to haunt me. I knew he wasn't feeling well, I knew I didn't want him to leave for work.  What I didn't know, was that goodbye kiss would be our last.

Hours had passed when the hospital doors slid open and I stepped out.  I held his briefcase in one hand and a plastic bag labelled personal belongings in the other. It was warm and the early morning sun was bright but my mind was a fog.  I distinctly remember the everyday sounds of traffic, birds singing, and laughter resonating through the air.  It didn't seem right, my world had just stopped but life was moving along as normal. I felt the nurse touch my arm and softly ask "Are you alright, can I help you to your car?" "No, I'm fine thank you", I muttered as I stepped off the curb.  What I really wanted to say was, "please wake me from this horrible dream".  I slowly walked toward a sea of colour, not really sure where I had parked or how I had got there.

Friends for eight years, lovers for four and now I was something I never expected to be, a widow. Our home took on a profound and unsettling emptiness. Familiar sounds were gone replaced by new sounds created by the eerie quiet.  I was caught by surprise when the sadness would intensify at certain times of the day, the times he would routinely call or walk through the door.  I soon realized I needed to accept a whole different rhythm to my life or I would wallow hopelessly in my grief.

Summer passed, fall came and then winter. When spring came I remember being surprised that I was still here. I never thought I would make it through the winter darkness. I was never suicidal but winters are hard for me at the best of times. Without my husband and my best friend I struggled with the intense loneliness.  Each day became so difficult I thought I would just give out.  As if part of a plan, it was during this time I found a box.  A shoebox, that went unnoticed for four years, placed high on the top shelf of a basement closet. Inside were a few of  his personal keepsakes, obviously cherished enough to keep safely stowed away. Thoughtfully placed on top of these representative mementos of our time past was a poem.  After deep contemplation, I can only think it was meant for me to find.  Today, the poem remains on my fridge and often gives me the encouragement and confidence to keep going forward.

When I come to the end of the road

and the sun has set for me

I want no rites in a gloom filled room.

Why cry for a soul set free.

Miss me a little - but not too long

And not with your head bowed low.

Remember the love we once shared.

Miss me - but let me go.

For this is a journey we all must take

And each must go alone.

It's all a part of the Master's plan

A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick at heart

Go to the friends we know

And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds.

Miss me - but let me go.

In time, I learned to accept new routines in my ordinary days. The days became manageable, but, as the sun set, the darkness would remind me my husband was gone. Weekends were the most difficult to get through and still are at times. Those are the times I look for mindless tasks to fill up my day and cloud my thoughts. Some tasks I avoided, like the dreaded cleaning of the closet. When it felt right, little by little, pieces disappeared to those in need.  I still can't decide which is worse, to see his belongings there or see the closet empty.  The most difficult of all to see go, his treasured motorcycle. Two years had passed and now it was time.  A new owner, with a tap on the horn and a sweep of his hand, proudly rode off on a bike so suited for him but truly meant for only one other.  I often hear the faded rumble of pipes and I remember.

The flowers still bloom in spring, the leaves still turn in autumn and the rain still falls in winter but gone are the lingering hugs, warm holding of hands, and sweet kisses I knew so well.  There isn't a day that I don't miss his green eyes twinkling with mischievous humour, but, my life goes on.  With another winter approaching I can honestly say with full assurance that my heart is beginning to heal and the tears have become trickles.  I just needed to learn to live moment by moment, day by day and now year by year accepting he is no longer here to do the things we did together and to appreciate, however brief, that he was.

We met by accident, became friends by chose and fell in love through fate. I pray by God's grace, we meet again in heaven. I don't know how long or when that will be but He knows, and that makes it all right.

November 30, 1954 ~ June 18, 2010