Carrying On

Yesterday started off as a normal Sunday at our house.  We quietly shared a pot of coffee while we sat in the kitchen and read the paper.  J worked on his laptop for a bit.  I watered the plants on the deck.  We stood on the front porch watching the much needed rain- loving it because our yard is full of colorful lilies right now but dreading it because we know we have a small hole in our roof where it's leaking into our sunroom.  We talked about where we wanted to go out to dinner later that night. Then we had to get ready to leave for the day.  J looked so handsome in his dark suit and tie, and I was able to find the one dress I own that still fits.  I fussed with my hair, my makeup, pairing up my necklace and bracelet.  I remembered to move everything from my brown purse into my black one, to match my dress and shoes.  We both took great care to look groomed and appropriate.  We were going to the funeral of one of J's employees.

Not just any funeral, but that of a young man, several years younger than us.  A man who died unexpectedly while on vacation with his wife and four children. I admit I don't like funerals and rarely go to them.  But J needed the support, so I went.  I'd never met the man, he worked in a department that I never came into contact with at the company.  J said he felt ashamed he didn't know the man better, but J has 400 employees under him, I told him it's impossible to be able to really "know" them all.  The service was two hours long, and at least 200 people were crammed into every seat in the small funeral home's sanctuary.  I'm not a religious person, I couldn't relate to all the talk about this man being in a better place, or how the ceremony wasn't a funeral but a celebration of his passing into heaven.  The only thing I could relate to was the stabbing sobs of the woman he left behind, the wife who loved him and now would have to carry on without him, who repeatedly draped herself over his casket, unwilling to let him go.

Even before the service, in a receiving room filled with grieving family and friends, I instantly knew which person was his wife.  She sat unmoving and staring blankly amid all the animation of hugs and handshakes.  She wore no makeup, her hair was tied back in an unkempt ponytail, she wore glasses when all the surrounding family photos showed she clearly wore contacts on a normal day.  She didn't even have a dress on- just a simple pullover shirt and pants, like she was carefree and headed off to the grocery store. And even though I'd never seen this woman before, I recognized her as the widow because I thought, that would be me. If I lost J, my grief would eat me alive and I in no way could be bothered with my appearance or even pretending to care about it.  I am not sure I would even be able to function at all.  I am not sure I would be able to stay alive long enough to attend the funeral.

I don't think I could live without J.  People say that all the time, "I can't live without you" but I actually literally mean it.  What joy and happiness that I do have in my life, is all because of J and our existence as a couple.  Without J, I doubt I could even get out of bed in the morning.  There is no other reason for me to push daily beyond my depression and chronic pain, except for J.  He is already my "second chance" at love, and I don't believe there would ever be anyone else.  I'm sure I could one day meet someone who might give me a semblance of comfort, but never the passion and love and devotion that J and I have for each other.

Does that mean there is something wrong with my life, that I wouldn't want to keep going without my husband by my side?  I have no children, my parents are elderly, my one sibling and I speak to each other only at holidays.  My few good friends all live in other states and have their own lives.  I don't belong to any organizations, I have zero ties to this community, I don't even have a career that I could get lost in.  So what else is there but J?  Everything else, without him, would be a pointless existence.  I would be going through the motions only, dead inside.  And for what?  For who?

I don't like to think about losing my husband, but sadly I know plenty of young widows my age.  And I know it happens in the blink of an eye, and you are never ready for it.  One friend my age lost her husband of 20 years on a normal workday, when he and coworkers went out for lunch, and a speeding car hit them at an intersection.  He died instantly.  When I kiss J goodbye every morning and send him to the office, I never think to myself, this could be the very last time I see him alive.  And I don't want to think about that.  But I know it's true, and I know it's always a possibility.

J and I try to make each and every moment count when we are together.  I think that's why we go and do so many things on the weekends, why we eat dinner together every night, why we've adopted each other's interests as our own, why our morning ritual is for me to rub his back and our nightly ritual is for him to rub mine.  And even though we like our quiet time apart and alone, when we are together we make it count and make it real.  We met late in life, we know that for us there will never be a golden anniversary.  My mom tells me that J and I have done and seen more together in our short decade, than she and my dad have in their fifty years of marriage.  It's just how we are, and I can't imagine it being any other way.  

More than that, I can't and won't imagine a life without my husband in it.  Our love is my life.

MISS GEE