We miss him, they say.
I brought a cake, I say. Carrot, his favorite, in appreciation for all you've done.
I have some coffee, hug, smile some, and they tell me return anytime, we miss you.
It was harder than I thought. Everything is.
I appreciate the assurance that Rich is in the trees or in heaven, that he's a butterfly or a breeze, but this is precisely the problem.
Because the world is saturated with the Rich of body and words that are gone, gone.
Even a damn bench, splintery and faded, shouts here was Rich. There he waited for me over five years ago, outside the doctor's office.
"I'm feeling better," he said. "Doing pretty good today."
"Probably nothing, then," I said, the first of the many lies to come.
Twenty minutes later, everything would change when the doctor read the biopsy results.
But on the bench, Rich pulled a bagel out of his attache.
"How did you know?" I asked.
He knew I was hungry. He knew what I always wanted, my default meal.
Today, all I know is that I don't care if Rich is the brightest star in heaven.
Stars don't bring bagels.
Candace
1 comment:
I hope that, in time, these memories will bring comfort more than pain. This is what I have found to be true for me. The only problem, of course, is that to get to this point (the point where the memories just make you smile, and not cry on the inside or outside), you have to go through a lot of sadness. The mantra I repeated, as I went through my initial grieving, is that "this is the price paid for such a great relationship" As always, my thoughts are with you. Love, Paula
Post a Comment