A Love Letter

I’m thinking of you today, my precious.  I think of you every day, of course; one might think that, nearly ten months after you left this world, time might have begun to dull my grief and loss.  Instead, it only seems to get stronger.  I hear your voice and remember your warm body next to mine.  I am haunted by the sound of your last breaths and the coldness of your skin when I last kissed you goodbye.  I chuckle at your wit and your silliness, and weep at the memories of the suffering and struggle of your last years.  Our house is filled with the artifacts and souvenirs of our life together, both full of your presence and empty without it.

I remember the first time I gave you a Valentine’s Day card.  We were best friends at that point, teetering on the edge of something even deeper.  I wanted to let you know how much you mean to me, but was afraid of letting too much show, afraid of the love in my heart.  You kept that card, pasted it in your journal.  A year after that, I wrote a song called “Side By Side”.  Really my first love song.  You helped me finish the words and we sang it together.  I denied that I wrote it for you, and I truly did not—on a conscious level.  My heart was speaking words that my head didn’t yet understand.  “And I never saw it coming, never knew that love was greater than a child’s dream.”  I couldn’t resist forever; at length, I gave myself to love.

Valentine’s Days of bliss followed.  We bought each other candy and flowers, laughed and loved, really lived.  It was an all-too-brief, warmly glowing time.  We got engaged and looked forward to more years of happiness. 

 

What a strange, wonderful, terrible time.  The bliss of newlyweds, the terror of cancer.  From honeymoon to chemo.  We held each other close and smiled.  I cried silently while you were sleeping.  Looking for a house to move into, planning for the future we were not at all sure would come.

My memory is that it was around Valentine’s Day when they told you that the cancer appeared to be completely gone.  What a gift!  We had our future back!  We were afraid to believe it, to get our hopes up, but it turned out to be true.  The cancer never came back.  But what followed was worse.

I remember well Valentine’s Day, four years ago.  You had been diagnosed with dementia and were doing inpatient physical therapy.  You were living in that place with an annoying roommate, a bit confused and wanting desperately to come home.  I was there with you as much as I could, every day after work and every weekend.  That day, I had a big vase full of roses delivered to your room, and soon followed with candy and a card.  You looked at me with tears of joy in your eyes, grateful to love and be loved in that place where so many sad and lonely people lived.  I squeezed into that tiny bed beside you and we were in heaven, eating chocolates and watching TV, a couple in love.

Now I find myself alone and missing you.  Once you said, flippantly, that after you died you wanted me to go out and find myself a nice young woman to marry.  At the time, I was indignant at this; now I smile and roll my eyes at your self-deprecation.  Did you really think I could forget my love for you so easily?  Now you are really gone, but there is still no room in my heart for anyone but you.   

All my love, my sweet.