What a Life

With the exception of my feelings of anger, some guilt, and loneliness, I live like a sixteen year old boy on summer vacation. I have no job, no responsibilities, a little money to spend, and no one to answer to. I wake at my leasure and go to bed when I feel like it, or not. I come and go at will, and I am rarely sure where the day will take me..... I now have the life Linda and I had decided we wanted, and worked for, but the only thing I really want is my Linda. Having the opportunity to do as I please without considering anyone else, surly must be a dream come true for someone, somewhere. I can now dedicate all my time to a new hobby, take a trip, see some sights, write, meet new people, and just generally do as I please. Except I cannot resolve the fact that all these possibilities came at the great expense of the life of the one person in the world I would gladly give it all up for, and now nothing seems like very much fun, anymore. Linda and I spent many hours contemplating our life together after the kids grew up and moved. We dreamed of a time for ourselves, well into retirement, and how we could behave like unsupervised children, free to explore, and doing what ever we pleased! We often sat hand in hand, visualizing our twilight years together. Old and saggy, the two of us walking in a park, her leaning on me for support, and me, using my cane on the dogs biting at her fat little ankles. Stopping in a colorful garden and picking flowers to give to my girl, we would guiltily look around to see if anyone saw what I did, and then giggle about getting away with it. We never considered the possibility that one of us would die so young. We just assumed that we would expire together, in the bed, holding hands, and looking into each others eyes. Simply and quietly drifting off, exactly like we did most nights when we lay down to sleep. Well, she did die in bed, looking into my eyes, while we held hands, but she went alone, leaving me here, and she was scared. She told me how frightened she was of dying, and except for uttering, "Oh lover..." I felt so impotent that I could do nothing, except look back at her! I was sitting in a chair next to her as she stared intently into my face, burning each wrinkle, blemish and crease, into her mind, so she would not forget what I looked like after she got to where she was going. She grasped my hand tightly, afraid to let go. Oh God! This is so difficult for me to recall, but I can not visit my memories of our life together without also recalling our last minutes. What a cruelty we had played on us! Twenty eight years, her and me, and we were still silly in love, and I know that she felt cheated every bit as much as I do. I torture myself at times, wondering if she is where she is, and missing me as much as I still miss her. I honestly hope not, for what kind of a life after life would that be, longing for the one who had been your lover for just under half your existence? If I was where she is now, and felt the way I do, I would rather be dead. Linda Maxine Lopez-Musson 07.14.1956--07.02.2011