I flipped over another page of the calendar hanging on the
wall. December. Twelve months have
passed. A year of firsts-without
you. I felt your absence everywhere,
every day.
Beside our bed, your cell phone sits on your
nightstand. The water bottle I filled
the last day you were home sits beside it, still filled with the water. The only item I can hold in my hands knowing
that your lips last touched its rim. I
can’t yet bring myself move those items.
My mind wanders back to memories of you. I bring myself back to the now, but my
emotions are strong; my heart aches to be back with you and relive every
moment. I fear my mind will one day fail
me and those cherished memories may fade with time.
I think back to the last day you were home. Since then our house grew cold, sad,
empty. The walls heavy with memories,
but the rooms echo my sadness. No longer
filled with love and laughter. What
lingers is emptiness.
My mind strains to remember as much of those last days at
home, as I possibly can. I close my eyes
and can almost feel your arms around me; the rise and fall of your chest; your
heart beating. We’d sway to a song only
our hearts knew. My fingers remember
your touch, your fingers intertwined in mine.
Every kiss from you provoked the same reaction – delicious anticipation,
pulse quickened, heart fluttered, I’d catch my breath. The fullness of your lips
as they touched mine. The passion. The love. The connection. Bliss.
I think back to that last evening you were home. You were so tired that day that we went to
bed after supper, to our island, our own little world impenetrable from life’s
pressures. We cuddled until you fell
asleep, on your back with your arm stretched, a position which you found some
comfort. As many nights before, I moved
my pillow to the foot of the bed, curled up to your legs, rubbed your feet,
then gradually fell asleep. Some nights
I still sleep that way.
Only a couple of hours later, you woke me. Visibly uncomfortable and exhausted, you
admitted you didn’t feel well. I knew
the last few days had been difficult for you but had no idea how much. When I suggested we head to the hospital, you
agreed. My heart sunk as this confirmed
you were much worse than I thought, but I had to maintain my composure, be
strong for you. I helped you dress and
collect your urine sample. My mind then
panicked - your liver and kidneys were not functioning. The ride to the hospital was a blur, but we
got there. Within a few hours I could
see your discomfort, frustration, confusion.
Cancer was ravaging your body and I was helpless. I couldn’t save you.
The doctors advised they could do no more. You didn’t cry, nor ask ‘why me’. Instead you worried about me and our
children. There were hard and heartfelt
conversations; and a multitude of hugs, kisses and I love you’s. As you requested, we kept music playing in
the background and I was by your side.
Those nights I lay beside you in that hospital bed, I watched you sleep,
I tried to memorize every inch of you, burn your image in my mind. I felt like we were living in a dream. This couldn’t be real. How could God allow
someone so genuine, so good, to be taken like this? The pain in my chest was unbearable – but
nothing compared to yours.
Gradually you started to wade in an out of consciousness and
coherency, I stayed by your side, holding your hand, trying to keep you calm
and relaxed as possible. That’s all I
could do. I wished it was me, not you,
going through this. You rapidly lost
weight as your belly distended, you skin started to yellow, and I couldn’t stop
it. Although you wouldn’t communicate, you’d reach for me, not the nurse,
knowing I was there for you to help.
Although you were slipping away, you would respond to my voice, you
still kissed me. You still held my
hand.
As your breathing shallowed, we could see it was time for
you to gain your wings. You were so
fragile, so cold, so not the man who walked into the hospital five days
earlier. I would say I love you and ask
for kisses, and you puckered your lips and could kiss me. Oh God, it broke my heart that you had to
go. It broke my heart that I couldn’t
save you. It broke my heart that your
children, Jase, and my children were losing you forever.
When the nursing staff said they would freshen you up, you
could still hear me. I told you I was going down the hall for a minute. I told you that I loved you and asked for
kisses. You puckered up and kissed me
back. I asked for more kisses and you
obliged. I said I would be right
back. When I walked out the door, I
worried that you’d slip away while I was gone to the lounge. I promised you I would be there with you to
the end. But when I returned, I knew you were gone, even before I opened the
door. This horrible weight in my chest
crushed me, crushed the air right out of my lungs. I looked at you in that bed – almost unrecognizable
to those who hadn't seen you in a while. I know you chose to leave after I had stepped away for those few moments, trying to protect me from
further pain. I lay my head on your
chest. It was cold, hard, hollow. Lifeless. I held you. I kissed you. I cried. A piece of
me went with you that day, where it belongs.
I haven’t been the same since that day. I promised you I would be fine. And one day I will be. I I’ve experienced loss before. But not like this. Our lives, our being, so intertwined,
symbiotic. Since that day, I’ve felt
incomplete, almost hollow.
Disconnected. All colour
faded when you took your last breath. I
live in a world of grey. This is
grief. It comes in waves. At first crashing hard at my foundation,
leaving sharp painful edges that I couldn’t move without feeling pain. As the weeks go by, the waves vary, some
massive, others not as strong. As the
months go by, the waves continue, some strong, others are ripples, yet massive
ones still strike at times. The sharp edges
are gradually weathering down, some painful, others sadness. But I keep moving.
It’s been one trip around the sun without you by my side. But I carry a piece of you with me, deep in my
heart, forever cherished. That piece sustains me, and my memories comfort me. As days pass, I become more accustomed to
life as it is now. It’s different. I’m different. I try to honour you by living a life which
you’d be proud of me. To remember the
things you’ve taught me, the love you’ve showed me. I am a better person because of you. I thank you for choosing me to love, to
trust, and to bear your soul. My best
friend. My lover. My happiness. You were, you are the love of my life. I miss
you often. And love you always. Sending my love and kisses to Heaven.
December 5,2020
