Death is not a pleasant thing to face and the death of your spouse is supposed to be one of the most life changing events you'll ever have to deal with. I heard it said somewhere that if a man dies in a relationship a woman can continue on and rebuild her life, while if a woman dies in the relationship the husband dies by half. It seems to me that I must be the exception to that rule for when I lost my husband to prostate cancer two years ago; my world fell apart and hasn't been whole since.
For nearly a year I cried every day, my husband and I had known each other almost all our lives, we had been at primary school together, then high school and then we even went to the same college where we finally woke up to the fact that we were meant to be together. We graduated, got engaged, started our own business, became successful and by the time we got married owned our own home. We complimented each other to a point where we would look askance at other married couples when they told us of their troubles and marital difficulties. I suppose not having children helped, we never fought over money and my husband never seemed to get involved with other women.
We were committed to each other and for thirty one years we lived, laughed and loved. Even now it's difficult to say, thirty one year's being with the same man, never wanting another person and enjoying the life God had given me. When he died it's not too much to say that I died, yes I lived and breathed but my zest for life vanished. My reason for living disappeared and to tell you the truth I didn't want to live anymore. I remembered being told stories of men and women who died of broken hearts that through their loss they simply died of grief. That was me and how I didn't die myself I can't explain for I truly didn't care either way.
Obviously friends tried to help but that became another obstacle to my grief, time and again friends would urge me to move on with my life, there would be shopping trips, movie's and picnic's all planned for me to help me recover. Then one day someone I knew organised a blind date without me knowing, when I realised what was happening I was so angry I couldn't even speak, finally my girlfriend hoping to break the frosty silence that had enveloped the table said something about it being healthy and natural to move on to which I replied that my marriage vows included the sentence 'to death do us part' and that I wasn't dead yet! Needless to say I wasn't invited to anymore blind dates.
If I sound bitter I suppose it's because I am, I had the perfect life and now the most important part of that life had gone. I was so bitter in fact that I sold our house on the first anniversary of his death, the house was our gift to each other and now I couldn't even bear to be there. I remember the final drive as I left the property, there was no look back, no wistful memories, no tears just a feeling of relief. I was running away there's no doubt about it and you know something; when they say you can't run away, that it doesn't fix the problem, well they're wrong I felt better than I had in a long time when I left there.
I bought a two story townhouse in a gated community in a beautiful location with warm weather year round. With two bedrooms and stunning views of the nearby ocean my spare room was almost always booked by friends coming to visit for a weekend. Another year since the anniversary of my husband's death came and went, I cried again on the day. I visited his grave but the grief although still a constant ache in the very marrow of my soul had seemed to subside slightly. It hadn't left and I don't think it ever will but perhaps I was getting used to carry the burden now.
Although I had two degrees as well as a Master's, I found myself a job in childcare, as I said I was financially secure and I think that working with these beautiful innocent souls unmarked by death or suffering helped me forget my own anguish for a while each day. The job itself was unglamorous and thankless but each day I went home satisfied and fulfilled, knowing that I had contributed no matter how small to a child's life.
The townhouse complex I lived in was a large upscale residence where you might wave to your neighbours but for the most part everyone kept to themselves, I suppose it's just a sign of our changing times but for me it was perfect, complete anonymity and the chance to just live my life how I wanted to, I had my books, my cooking classes and my small flower garden and that was my life.
One Tuesday evening as I arrived home I noticed a new car parked in the driveway of the townhouse across from mine, a shiny black Jeep Wrangler which was surrounded by bags, golf clubs, weight equipment and a bike. As I retrieved my handbag and bag of groceries from my car I noticed a man walk out of the unit, one word was all it needed to describe him; military. It screamed at you from the way he carried himself, his crew cut hairstyle, his tall, strong, athletic build and the determined, no nonsense look on his face. When I say tall I mean he must have been at least 6'3" with black hair and aged somewhere in his 30's I guess he saw me and with a casual wave and a polite hello picked up his clubs and scuba gear and walked back inside. Well I said to myself it was certainly better than 85 year old Mrs Edwards who had now moved in with her daughter, a move no doubt impressing her son-in-law.
Days, weeks and months passed with no change to my life, and then one night my world changed in a way I never thought possible. It had been an exhausting day at work, children sick, short on staff all in all one of those days you just want to forget. I got home too exhausted to even cook myself a meal, I had a shower and climbed into bed turning on the T.V. with no intention of doing anything else. I must have fallen asleep quickly but for some reason I woke up with a start. My unit was dark with the exception of the T.V. which cast a pale, flickering light around my room; I lay in bed for a moment because I had the strangest sensation that something was wrong.
