8 years today, we'd have been married. Today we should be eating french toast in bed, and cuddling together, and you shouldl be making me laugh like you always did , that horrible, wonderful way of yours. We should be teasing each other about getting sick of each other, and then call back all the passion of that first night shared with a gentle word.
But we're not. Instead today, I got up alone like I have for the past nine months, and walked to the kitchen, joylessly pouring cereal into a bowl and trying to awake my senses before Ahava woke up. I sat and thought of you, as I do often in those first minutes after my feet hit the cold wooden floor. Any other morning, I'd be sitting listening to you yammer on about your latest endeavor while you scrambled eggs for Ahava and I. But all I hear is the ticking of the clock in the kitchen
I'm scared, Ry
I've forgotten things, things I never wanted to forget, things I spent those last few days trying to ingraine into my soul, that you might stay with me forever. I can't remember the feel your breath on my neck as you whisper in my ear, your touch on my back, the softness and purity of your kiss becomes harder and harder to describe. I strain to think of your hum as you worked in the kitchen, oh how much you loved that. I remember always coming home and seeing you make your latest concotion, which was always amazing and rich and wonderful. And you scent......Oh God, please don't let me forget that. I went to your closet and opened it today, because you jackets hadn't been washed and you can still smell you if you just breathe deeply. I can't forget that.
What happened to it all? In what world was this fair? I remember when we got together, and how you were so full of life, laughter filling every inch of you, until you got to coughing, and even then, the laughter was in your eyes. You were truly amused with life, in a way I never could replicate. I watched Cf and cepacia work bit by bit to take your light and joy from me, moving from that familiar nighttime sound of your cough, to a oxygen concentrator, to a bipap.
I miss your cough, Ry.
In those last few days, as I watched your life flicker like a candle at the end of its wick, the enormity of the situation began to hit me. I was going to lose my sunny, funny hubby. But it couldn't be! You had me and a daughter and everything, there had to be someone else they could take. But I called to the sky, and it was empty those nights, and I knew, oh yes I knew. AND that night, like every other since then, my heartbeat has softly called your name into the quiet.
You always had a way about you that was undeniable. You could joke about the most morbid and horrible of things. Leaving personals ads circled, trying to help me find a date to the funeral, you joked. You're not getting any younger, you said. But we were young Ry, we were so desperately young. I remember how you joked about making a lifetime movie about me beating you, as we dredged up southern accents, and you created the best womanly scream I'd ever heard." Lester, no!" I still laugh when I think of you like that, perfect. Your eyes all lit up with humor and creativity.
You were my undoing, Ry
In life before you, things were so perfectly placed and put, and I'd have my husband and kids, with a white picket fence, matching SUVs and labrador retrievers. And I'd have lived a life of quiet boredom and desperation, always looking for the kind of love you find in the cheesy romance novels that you used to mock, Our 7 seven years were all too short, but they were the happiest of my life, even when things weren't perfect. You changed me, Ry. And for the better.
In life after you, I now sit at the kitchen table and reflect on what I've lost. The cupboard, once filled with medications, is empty now, dust collecting in that spot I can't bear to do anything else with. I no longer trip on your tubing as I walk absentmindedly into the lving room. I don't have to wait until you've done your treatments to go to bed. I miss the face you used to make while doing TOBI, begging me to grab you a pop because you couldn't stand that taste. So I watch the candle and wish with all my mind I had a match to relight it.
I hope I was a good wife, Ry. You were an amazing husband.
But we're not. Instead today, I got up alone like I have for the past nine months, and walked to the kitchen, joylessly pouring cereal into a bowl and trying to awake my senses before Ahava woke up. I sat and thought of you, as I do often in those first minutes after my feet hit the cold wooden floor. Any other morning, I'd be sitting listening to you yammer on about your latest endeavor while you scrambled eggs for Ahava and I. But all I hear is the ticking of the clock in the kitchen
I'm scared, Ry
I've forgotten things, things I never wanted to forget, things I spent those last few days trying to ingraine into my soul, that you might stay with me forever. I can't remember the feel your breath on my neck as you whisper in my ear, your touch on my back, the softness and purity of your kiss becomes harder and harder to describe. I strain to think of your hum as you worked in the kitchen, oh how much you loved that. I remember always coming home and seeing you make your latest concotion, which was always amazing and rich and wonderful. And you scent......Oh God, please don't let me forget that. I went to your closet and opened it today, because you jackets hadn't been washed and you can still smell you if you just breathe deeply. I can't forget that.
What happened to it all? In what world was this fair? I remember when we got together, and how you were so full of life, laughter filling every inch of you, until you got to coughing, and even then, the laughter was in your eyes. You were truly amused with life, in a way I never could replicate. I watched Cf and cepacia work bit by bit to take your light and joy from me, moving from that familiar nighttime sound of your cough, to a oxygen concentrator, to a bipap.
I miss your cough, Ry.
In those last few days, as I watched your life flicker like a candle at the end of its wick, the enormity of the situation began to hit me. I was going to lose my sunny, funny hubby. But it couldn't be! You had me and a daughter and everything, there had to be someone else they could take. But I called to the sky, and it was empty those nights, and I knew, oh yes I knew. AND that night, like every other since then, my heartbeat has softly called your name into the quiet.
You always had a way about you that was undeniable. You could joke about the most morbid and horrible of things. Leaving personals ads circled, trying to help me find a date to the funeral, you joked. You're not getting any younger, you said. But we were young Ry, we were so desperately young. I remember how you joked about making a lifetime movie about me beating you, as we dredged up southern accents, and you created the best womanly scream I'd ever heard." Lester, no!" I still laugh when I think of you like that, perfect. Your eyes all lit up with humor and creativity.
You were my undoing, Ry
In life before you, things were so perfectly placed and put, and I'd have my husband and kids, with a white picket fence, matching SUVs and labrador retrievers. And I'd have lived a life of quiet boredom and desperation, always looking for the kind of love you find in the cheesy romance novels that you used to mock, Our 7 seven years were all too short, but they were the happiest of my life, even when things weren't perfect. You changed me, Ry. And for the better.
In life after you, I now sit at the kitchen table and reflect on what I've lost. The cupboard, once filled with medications, is empty now, dust collecting in that spot I can't bear to do anything else with. I no longer trip on your tubing as I walk absentmindedly into the lving room. I don't have to wait until you've done your treatments to go to bed. I miss the face you used to make while doing TOBI, begging me to grab you a pop because you couldn't stand that taste. So I watch the candle and wish with all my mind I had a match to relight it.
I hope I was a good wife, Ry. You were an amazing husband.