This new version of life.
This life that exists in the now.
The one where my husband,
is no longer my husband,
by law.
Because he is dead.
And you can’t be married
to a dead person.
By law.
You might still FEEL married,
like I did,
for almost 4 years,
after his death.
You might feel as if even looking
at another man
is cheating,
and it feels wrong
and awful,
and you feel like a terrible wife,
like I did.
You may still wear
your wedding ring,
or his.
Or maybe you move it
to your other hand.
Or have it made
into a necklace.
Which is your right.
And an honor
to do so.
Or
you lose it,
or you notice one day,
that when you look down
at your hand,
to do that thing
you always do,
where you roll your thumb
over your ring
because it’s oddly
and stupidly
comforting,
that the ring is missing.
Its not there.
Its gone.
Disappeared into thin air,
just like your husband.
And your hand is naked.
And you go numb for awhile.
And then you cry
until you cant breathe.
And you feel guilty for months.
And you feel like he just died
all over again.
And nobody understands.
And you get accused
of being over-dramatic.
You get told
to get over it.
You get told
that you aren’t
married
anymore
anyway,
because he is dead.
You get told
that losing your
wedding ring
was “a sign”
that it’s time
to “move on.”
And you want to punch
the person who said that
right in the eyeball,
and then kick them
over and over again,
until they hurt
until they bleed
until they scream
in pain,
as much as you do,
Everyday.
But you know
it wont help.
You know
they will never
get it,
until
they get it.
Until they find
themselves
running their
thumb
along the finger
where their
wedding ring
used to be.
Because their husband
is dead forever,
and the ring,
the symbol of that
great love,
one of the only things
that comforts them,
is physical proof
Evidence,
that he existed.
Because sometimes,
lots of times,
they have to
remind themselves
that their love
really
happened.
That they
didn’t
just
imagine it.
And the ring
is the perfect reminder.
Until it’s not.
Until it’s gone.
Until you find yourself,
in a corner,
looking through
your wedding albums,
peeking at
your wedding video,
hearing the sound
of his voice.
Watching him smile
and laugh,
and dance,
and then running
into the bathroom,
to throw up.
To have a meltdown.
To shake
and panic.
Anxiety.
Again.
Because your husband,
no longer smiles,
or laughs,
or dances.
Those are just video clips,
from a time,
that is gone.
And seeing that,
watching that,
up close,
is heart-wrenching.
But you miss him
SO MUCH,
that you keep watching,
sometimes,
even though,
you know,
it will bring you torture.
But
torture,
is better
than the nothingness
of him
being
forever
gone.
Six years later.
2 days ago,
in fact.
Your new love,
has gone a few hours,
without responding,
to your texts.
You were
supposed to talk,
later that night.
But he goes silent.
Hours go by.
You leave voicemails.
Text him.
You pace.
You worry.
Panic sets in.
You know the drill.
People disappear.
They die.
With no warning.
You start talking
to yourself.
All the what if’s.
Maybe he had
a heart-attack,
with no symptoms,
no warning.
Just like
your husband.
Maybe he collapsed,
and was alone,
for too long,
to be saved.
And maybe
you will have to
go through
all the guilt
and the pain
the torture
All over again.
Who would even tell you,
if he died?
You aren’t his wife.
You love him.
He loves you.
But the relationship
is new.
And not many people
in his world
know yet,
who you are,
or know your number,
to call you,
and tell you,
that your world just ended.
So you panic.
Because you
CANNOT
go through
this again.
You cannot
lose this person
already.
NO.
And so,
six years later,
you find yourself
rocking back and forth,
sitting in your dead husband’s
recliner chair,
crying,
but the silent kind of
crying,
where it just happens,
without any effort,
or sound.
And your thumb,
starts to slowly move,
out of instinct,
over and over
that finger,
where your
wedding ring,
used to be,
and hasn’t been,
for 4 years,
since it went missing.
But now,
that naked skin,
it oddly comforts you,
to stroke it,
even though
nothing
is there.
It fans the
ANXIETY
to a dull roar.
It forces you
into a rhythm,
of breathing again.
“It will be okay.
It will be okay.
Everything
will be okay.
Today.”
Later on,
the next morning,
when he finally calls you,
and tells you that
he simply fell asleep
early
the night before,
you breathe
a sigh of relief,
and feel almost
silly,
for all the panic.
But you know,
what you know,
and this is just how it is,
in your mind.
And you wonder,
how the hell,
am I going to do this,
how am I going
to lose
someone I love,
to death,
Again.
One day.
Someday.
I might have to
figure
that out.
I might have to.
But that
day
is not
Today.
Today,
I take comfort,
in the naked skin,
where my love
once
slipped
a beautiful ring
on my finger,
and we smiled,
and cried,
on that snowy night,
in the cold,
one week
before Christmas.
And we lived.
We existed.
And we loved.
We love.
And the fact
that I can love
this man
now,
today,
so much,
that I cannot bear
to picture life
without him,
is Evidence,
along with
the nakedness
of my finger,
that
Love
Grows
Love.
Right now.
Today.
In this second.
Everything
is
Going
to
Be
Okay.
