Questions without Answers
It's only two weeks since my husband of nine years left this life and far too soon for me to share much of our story. But there are so many questions need answers even though most of the answers will have no meaning yet, not for me. If I could talk to him once more, he could probably answer every question - he was always good at that - so this is what I would ask.
It is 5am and I reached across the bed to touch your shoulder, to feel your warmth, to feel you breathe, but you have gone and there is only the pillow where you once rested your head and slept. How do I go on without you?
So many times a day I pause and turn to say something to you, but you have gone there is only an empty space where you once sat and listened so patiently. Who will I talk to without you?
Each morning I pour the coffee into the cup, only one cup now where once there were two, because you have gone though your cup is still here and I sometimes feel as empty as that cup. Why is it that now I must drink alone?
How can I go for a walk, feel the warmth of the sun, hear the song of a bird, see the first blooms of spring, smell the roasting of cocoa, drive the car, mow the lawn, plant new flowers, trim the hedges, shop for groceries, make plans for the future, do the hundreds of things we always did together? You have gone and with you
my future has gone. You left behind not one but two empty shells, yours and mine, both of us destroyed by the disease that took you from me.
How can I look at photos, remembering the memories we made together knowing now it has all ended with no happily ever afters anymore. Did it - did I- begin and end with you? How do I find my new beginning? Who will I become without you?