I lost my beloved husband three weeks ago, after several months of failing health. His body was 86 years old, so I shouldn’t be surprised that it wore out -- he used it up -- but in mind and spirit he was the perpetual kid. He loved life, he loved people, he enjoyed everything he did (maybe except going to the dentist). Right up until the end, I had hope that he would come home to me, even if he were in a wheel chair or needed assistance, I just wanted him back. He was such a larger-than-life character that his leaving has left a deep chasm in my life. I can’t see any future without him.
We had been married for 12 years; I was a still-grieving widow (I had been happily married for 40 years) when I met him, and had no plans for re-marriage. He was nine and a half years older than me, and, having mourned one husband, I had no wish to ever repeat the process, yet here I am. We had 12 fantastic years together -- but now he has left me too, and the question is, was it worth it? I don’t yet know. I am 76 years old and I now understand the word “bereft.” I am.
So I look around and see all the reminders and each one hurts. His desk, his clothes in the closet, the colors on the walls that we picked out together, the new window shutters we ordered that he never lived to see installed, our two “pound puppies,” both of which he picked out. He did so love his dogs! And how can I ever go back to church? He was the Associate Pastor, and the place is imbued with his presence. I can’t imagine it with out him.