Loving you

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you ... I could walk through my garden forever." ~Alfred Lord Tennyson

It's been two years. 

Two years since I last heard your voice and your laugh. Two years since I felt your hug reminding me of how safe I was. Two years since I held your hand.

Two years since I heard your heart stop beating.

That was one of my favorite things to do -- simply lay and listen to your heart beat. I felt so much comfort in those moments. Maybe it was a security thing, a way to remind myself you were there and real. A way to remind myself that you were mine.

Your heart may not beat any longer, but mine still beats for you.

"Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while." ~William Goldman

I still remember that night vividly, while also feeling it was all a muffled dream. I still remember the people who showed up, but I can't recall the things I said. I still remember the doctor talking to me, knowing before he said a word that you were gone.

I still remember feeling like my heart was shattering inside and there was nothing I could do. There are days when that feeling hits me again, steals my breath, and sends me to my knees.

If love had been enough, you'd still be here. If I could have healed your heart with love, I would have. We would still have so much time.

Time is a crazy concept. It seems to pass so quickly -- every day is a reminder that I am moving further away from our chapters in the story. And yet, it seems like just yesterday you were here, laughing with that full deep laugh and looking at me like I was the most amazing person in the room.

Sometimes, my brain forgets a little that you're gone. It tricks me into thinking you'll come walking in the door or you'll text me that you're on your way home from work. Sometimes I still hear that laugh or hear you calling me beautiful. I stand in the kitchen and glance toward where your chair sat -- that horrible broken recliner -- and just for a moment remember you there, looking at me with all the love one could possess.

Some days, I feel like I've aged 10 years in two. My hair has grayed more -- you always did like to tease me about having more gray than you. I certainly have more on my plate than before. Being a "me," especially post "we," comes with a lot of everything. There's no one to share the load or bounce the ideas off of in the same way. Everything, literally everything, is mine and mine alone to handle.

It's exhausting sometimes.

Some days, I wonder if you would recognize me. I've tried to not harden my heart in a world that's constantly wearing on it. You always told me that was part of my beauty; I had a beautiful heart.

It was two years ago today that I wrote these words:

"Now I have to figure out how to live without him. With the man who was my match, my equal, my person. The person I wanted to share all the good with and the person I needed when all the world was hard and painful.

It may be the most painful thing I've ever had to endure. Learning to live without my other half. Learning to face life alone."

I've learned a lot of that in the last two years. Learned a lot about myself, too, the hard way. I've learned to be tough and strong in ways I never anticipated.

Sometimes I hate that word. I think all widows hate that word. The world thinks we're strong because we're still standing upright and walking and talking. The truth is, we have no choice. And on the inside, we feel anything but strong. We're just doing our best to keep moving.

I've learned to be kinder to myself and others. I think, in losing you, my eyes have opened and my heart has softened to realities I missed before. People really are trying their best, sometimes they just suck at realizing what you need.

I've learned I have a perspective that eludes many, because I understand what's really important in life in a way I never did before. I wish more people could understand that perspective, could see more easily the things that matter. Sometimes I want to shake them, to make them wake up and see it. 

But I don't wish that either, because it can only be seen by those who have been where I am. I don't wish that on anyone. If only they could share the perspective without the experience.

I've learned to be brave. I've stepped out and taken risks I'd never chanced before. I would have been too terrified to fail or make a fool of myself. But I've realized that failure is a part of living. If you've a chance to try and fail, well, at least you've the chance to try. Life, after all, doesn't give second chances to get it right, so you might as well try and try big.

I've started businesses. I'm really making an effort at selling my crafts like you always encouraged. I'm trying to use my writing and design skills to help others. And I'm taking care of animals. It's all the things, but all things I'm passionate about. I do love it. I just wish you could be here to see me through it.

You were always my biggest cheerleader.

I miss having you around to tell all about it. I've met some pretty wonderful people who have opened their homes and invited me in. I wish you could meet the animals I care for. You'd love them too.

Speaking of, I hope you're loving our babies well. Losing Luna and then Bucket has been hard. But I know they were so happy to see you and you them. I'm sure they're both healthy pups again, running and chasing each other. They had gotten so tired down here. I'm thankful I had them, for these two years would have been harder without them.

It still breaks my heart to think of the things you'll never see or do. You're missing M driving and seeing them all grow up. The girls miss you. And little F will never know his Uncle Jim. You'll never get to meet the future pets here. We'll never take those trips.

I'm still hoping to take them for you, if I can find a way. And be present at all the important things you can't be a part of. Maybe in some way, I can be there in your absence. It isn't the same, but I try.

"Grief is not a disorder, a disease, or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical, and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve." ~Earl Grollman

I tell people about you. I'll always tell people about you, for how can I not share the love of my life? How do I not tell them about us and our story? The love doesn't stop just because your time here did. I've learned to accept the grief as part of the journey. It's a sign of our love. For if our love wasn't so big, the grief wouldn't be either. 

It was a love that changed my life. Forever wouldn't have been long enough with you, but I'll never stop being thankful for the years we had.

I hope, even when I'm too gone to remember my own name, I never forget yours. Because that's how I keep you alive always.

I'll never stop loving you. ❤️ 

"The greater the love, the greater the grief." ~C.S. Lewis