My head aches, and my heart gasps. I hold my hand over my soul, taking deep breaths. One, breathe in. Two, breathe out. I know it will pass, it has to. Of all the waves that have overtaken me before, this one seems the greatest. An invisible storm of sorrow and despair encapsulates me, and suddenly I cannot see, I cannot hear. I scream out to the world around me but all that pass are ignorant of my attack. All I can do is wait.
Flashes of memories start to soar through my mind. “No,” I whisper helplessly. But it’s too late. I see his smile, hear his voice, feel his great hand in mine. “Stop,” I breathe out. More faded pictures of when we traveled to New York City together for the first time. Wispy images of snow, and Christmas trees, the warm symphonies of Christmas carols as he wrapped his strong arms about me and whispered, “Merry Christmas, my darling.”
Each portrait of him is like a pierce to my heart. One, when he proposed. Two, opening worn boxes of our belongings in our first very own shoebox apartment. Three, our first child as handsome as his father. Four, holidays together wondering how life could get any better than this. Five, Daddy is sick with a cold.
“I can’t see this again.” I shout in my head, but the wave is coming and I cannot prevent it.
Six, doctor’s telling me my husband has weeks to live.
“Please, no! I can’t live through this again!” I try to close my eyes but they are already shut tight. The pandora’s box has been released, and all I can do is lie helpless.
Seven, a phone call. Hollow ringings that reverberated through the house. I knew before I answered, but I prayed it was a mistake, a dream. I would wake up any minute, and life would be just as wonderful as it had been.
Eight, a crisp sunny fall day draped in black. I remember a preacher, and so many faces giving me their condolences when all I wanted was my husband back.
From then on I lost track of the numbers. Each day was a numb existence as I struggled to find any meaning after losing my best friend, my soul. Friends offered advice, but the words were meaningless blurs that floated through the air. They did not understand, how could they? I was dealing with the disease of loneliness, side effects: despair, depression. I watched as days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. How long ago had he died? The wrinkles on my face and hands told me it was long enough. A friend looked me straight in the eyes and said, “One day at a time Betts, just do the next thing. Pick up the pieces of your heart one by one, and you will find the strength you need.”
So here I am, picking up the pieces of my heart each step of the way, and fighting back against that disease. It won’t overtake me, I cannot let it. I’m doing this for you Jim, until I see you again.
pourmoietpourvous 