Dear Reader,
It hit me the moment I got married. I realized that one day, the woman I loved the most, the one I chose to invest emotion, experiences and time into will one day leave this earth. I looked around the wedding ceremony seeing kin pouring every ounce of their happiness into the two of us. I remember wanting to be among them, showing my support with smiles, ear-to-ear smiles, rapid clapping and pats on the back. Everyone was living in the moment except me. Some nights, I feared that I would wake up and feel an empty cold pillow to the right of me. Perhaps the months following her funeral or hours after her passing. Our honeymoon was not the peak of my depression, but it was definitely the close to the climax. The night we made the cliche love all newlyweds do, I cried. I pretended it was because I was so happy, but I was afraid of the next day being further from the day we were born and closer to the day we will pass. When our kids born, I relapsed on the depression that, for a short time, abandoned me. I spent 25 years being a paranoid father: waiting for my children to accidentally choke on a coin and tearing up when they left for their friend's house when the sun was past set. Phone calls in the middle of the night from my children calling from their dorm rooms just to say "I love you" had me certain they were being held hostage by murderous rapists. However, even then was not the peak of my depression. By the time my grandchildren had turned 7, my paranoia had finally subdued. The grandchildren would run around with sharpened pencils and I did not scream. In some cases, I even joined in on the action, giving the game names like "Pencil Wars" or "King Pencil." Actually, my wife had become the paranoid one. Its ironic how much personalities rub off on you after years of being together. Living together.
The peak of my paranoia was when my beloved wife came home from work one day and asked me where Donna was. Donna was our first Dog we had when our kids turned 13. We surprised them with Donna one evening after they had complained for 7 or more years about not having a dog. Our kids were far to irresponsible enough. Unfortunately, the dog ran into the street about a month later and was run over by our neighbor during the night. It was pretty sad and a little awkward for about a few weeks after that. My wife had developed Alzheimer's. It was the biggest slap in the face by death. I became a very angry man for the following year after our doctors confirmed her conditions. I was mad at the world as well as myself. I had allowed myself to focus obsess over death and I had let my fear dictate and spoil important parts of my moments in my life. I know all the cliches about death being a part of life and counting my blessings. Our family was death-free for so long, I felt like it was Death's way of getting back. People felt the need to remind me to remember all the good times, forgetting that the reason the "good times" were good become of her. I would be remembering these good times alone for the rest of my life. I am expected to watch myself be forgotten.
As I think back, my most tragic mistake was my lack of appreciation. I spent too much of my life living in fear of death, preparing myself for the worst situations that cannot be prepared for. I hid from situations that make a person, a person. There were just not enough times I lived in the moment with her. She must be the one that feels alone. I made her feel alone. I should have joined her in the moments. But I will join her now...She'll meet me there. Somewhere in our memories.
Live.
The message was found in the bedroom two feet away from his body. Next to the alarm clock.
No comments:
Post a Comment