Terry, It is so unfair that your love story came to an end, so very unfair.
A recent article that I read is quite beautiful. I hope you don’t mind that I share it.
“I still rise uncharacteristically early each morning, shocked into wakefulness by the realization that he is no longer beside me. Friends hope that this will wear off, but I dread the day it does. While I am still shocked by his absence I can still hold onto his presence. He is still alive to me. I can hear his voice in my head. I can visualize him in three dimensions before me. He is still him. We are still we.
On the way home after a long day, I say aloud, “If you’re out there send me a sign.” When I get home, there is a large tree blown down in our garden. “Couldn’t you just have sent me a feather?” I lament wryly. I hear him laughing with me.
I am a mix of contradictions: sad but not unhappy, alone but not lonely, single yet in a relationship, a wife with no husband. I feel loved by so many and yet no longer by one in particular.
I am a person whose husband has died. He is not late nor lost. He hasn’t passed. He is absent but not erased. He inhabits my dream world, making star appearances in technicolor. I know him so well that, like a favorite character in a book, I can imagine him into any situation.
He is dead but our relationship outlives him. Our bank is still full and I depend on it, in some ways now more than ever. I am grateful for the independent self that was fostered in our marriage as I carve a lone way forward through this surreal new world—although altered, I too am not late, passed or lost. But this independence has always been, and still is, indelibly connected to his love being there for me to depend on when needed, a secure base where my troubles can be soothed, my joys shared, and from which I can confidently head back out into the world.
The safety of that dependence allowed me to be more boldly independent. Thus it was that with the gift of a bell to summon him, I seldom needed to ring it, and even as his absence is stark, his presence remains a deeply embedded internal reservoir. The shape of our love holds firm and I continue to be forged and fortified by it, turning to it for comfort and encouragement as I bear my grief and navigate life. It is still the rock on which I rely.
The shape of our love holds firm and I continue to be forged and fortified by it, turning to it for comfort and encouragement as I bear my grief and navigate life. It is still the rock on which I rely.”