Those hard days happen and will always happen until we no longer walk on top of the ground ourselves.
I write about them publicly on social media as a reminder to all who read me tomorrow is never promised and many times the end comes with no damn warning.
This past week I realized it was 2 1/2 years since the night my love had his stroke and left me behind. I look at his photos and ask him how he could leave such a great marriage. I wish he could answer.
If you know me, if you know our story, if you read my book then you know I caught Larry in my arms and held him close as he became unconscious. I ask God all the time if he knew I held him as he left me. Perfect love story ending, right? Wrong.
Yes, I believe Larry deserved to die this way over being alone somewhere, or driving his car and hitting a tree or another car or worse. We all deserve to die in someone’s arms after all we hit this world and are immediately cradled in the arms of someone.
I am pretty sure this won’t be the way I leave. Yes, Larry did deserve to be cradled and held. He did not deserve the screams that came out of my body, or the panic in my voice, or the small slap I gave him to see if I could wake him up.
Those hard days will happen over and over and we cannot hide from them, all we can do is ride the waves as they wash over us and eventually we find peace again.
We know we cannot change what happened, we cannot re-write our happy endings because in reality the happiness exists while we exist. This is what we must spend time covering ourselves with daily. One more time, tomorrow is never promised.
I never question feelings and two days ago my BFF from ages 5-26 yrs old crossed my mind. We had a long friendship that went as some do when we marry, have children and one or the other of us moves quite a distance away.
We sporadically kept in touch and the last time I saw her was in 1992. We did so much together as we grew up I could probably fill a book. We were together all the time. We played, we read books while sitting in her tree, we ice skated, we swam, we played kickball with the entire neighborhood, we double dated, we fell in love and we were in each other’s weddings. She wanted to be a marine biologist and when her husband was offered a position near the shores of the Atlantic; we thought maybe she would.
The last time we were together as families, my youngest was 9 months old. We lived too far apart, and our families were young. Their parents had passed away and they didn’t come home to Cleveland any longer.
I went to visit them one more time when I lived nearer to them. We had lunch and we laughed a lot about our younger days.
Now and then I would Google her name and I read in 1997 her husband had a heart attack and had died. The doctors at Brooks AFB had told us when he was transferred here from Vietnam that his injuries were so severe that it would affect his life span. He was only 51.
I have no clue why she crossed my mind. I put her name in Google and was shocked to the core to read that she had been stabbed to death last year by her youngest daughter. I am in shock; I am sad. This friend whom I always thought would be the brightest of her other 5 siblings did not have the life and marriage we had daydreamed about.
All the news articles said was that they were arguing and I feel that they probably had been arguing for a long time considering her daughter was 29.
It’s terrifying to think your own child would kill you, but we know it happens. This is what she said at the scene: This happened during an argument the two had had over two days regarding her mother “doing as (she) asked her to do.”
2 days of arguing, 2 adults living under the same roof and one just broke picked up a chef’s knife poking and threatening her mother and then…
Sometimes I wish I was making a story like this up and writing it here as fiction, but you all know I am not a fiction writer.
I am not sure if my friend ever found happiness.
I am not sure if she ever found happiness. The life she had dreamed about was drastically altered when her husband was burned and wounded so badly in Vietnama. He was a walking poster boy for burn wounds that could not be fixed. Children were afraid of him. To me he was my friend’s husband a man I had known for years and I didn’t see his scars.
Her scars were on the inside. She cringed when she saw the way people looked at their family. There were other problems with their oldest son, and then the 3rd child was born challenged. I think it was more than she could take and more than anyone ever deserved. To die at the hands of your child holding a knife is a nightmare.
Rest in peace, at least you are both together again and I remember fondly how much you loved each other when you both first met, how wonderful your wedding was (even though I did not look good in a lime green bridemaid’s dress.)
We had so much fun over the years, and I wish your life had turned out better, but who knows, maybe she just accepted what she was given and turned lemons into lemonade.