Satisfaction
The mortuary called today. They wanted to make sure I was satisfied with my service and if there was anything more they could do to help. The man confirmed that my husband was delivered back home yesterday.
No. He wasn't. What you brought me was a beautiful marble urn, filled with ashes and engraved with birth and death dates, and a silhouette of a cyclist. That is not my husband.
My husband stands about 5'10', has piercing blue eyes, and a buzzed hair cut because he's balding. He has prominent cheek bones, fair, freckled skin, and a chiseled body with massive quads. He smells of sunblock and old spice. My husband is likely the smartest person you will have ever met. He is the definition of brilliant. He is kind and generous and always plays by the rules. He's the guy you call when you need help with ANYTHING. He is a doting father to our three little boys, who love and adore him more than life itself. What he lacks in his taste of music he more than makes up for with his charismatic spirit and zest for life. His smile is like a 1000 watt light bulb, and his infectious laughter could fill a room. Yes, he shaves his legs, but that just means he is extremely comfortable with his manhood, and also he's a badass cyclist. My husband is my life companion, my partner in parenting our children, my other, better, half. Although we are only 35 and 36, we have been together longer throughout our lives than we haven't. He is my favorite person and my best friend. My everything.
That isn't who showed up at my door yesterday.
What remains after all of this is a 16x20 print of my husband racing his heart out, an urn, a spare room-turned bike repair shop with just about every bike tool you could want as well as several very nice bicycles, that is just as he left it with every intention of coming back to it. There is also a closet full of his clothing that he will never wear again, a garage workbench he built with his father, and several family photos, all with him and that same giant smile. Just a few miles away there is a circle drawn on the pavement in spray paint where he landed. The site just off the side of the road is filled with flowers, and notes of condolence. Four people wander this house, searching for answers, for a way out of this darkness, for peace. We have faith that he is in a better place, but we weren't ready to let him go from this one yet.
So no. I'm not satisfied. The only way I would be is if he were back here in human form, in my arms again.
No. He wasn't. What you brought me was a beautiful marble urn, filled with ashes and engraved with birth and death dates, and a silhouette of a cyclist. That is not my husband.
My husband stands about 5'10', has piercing blue eyes, and a buzzed hair cut because he's balding. He has prominent cheek bones, fair, freckled skin, and a chiseled body with massive quads. He smells of sunblock and old spice. My husband is likely the smartest person you will have ever met. He is the definition of brilliant. He is kind and generous and always plays by the rules. He's the guy you call when you need help with ANYTHING. He is a doting father to our three little boys, who love and adore him more than life itself. What he lacks in his taste of music he more than makes up for with his charismatic spirit and zest for life. His smile is like a 1000 watt light bulb, and his infectious laughter could fill a room. Yes, he shaves his legs, but that just means he is extremely comfortable with his manhood, and also he's a badass cyclist. My husband is my life companion, my partner in parenting our children, my other, better, half. Although we are only 35 and 36, we have been together longer throughout our lives than we haven't. He is my favorite person and my best friend. My everything.
That isn't who showed up at my door yesterday.
What remains after all of this is a 16x20 print of my husband racing his heart out, an urn, a spare room-turned bike repair shop with just about every bike tool you could want as well as several very nice bicycles, that is just as he left it with every intention of coming back to it. There is also a closet full of his clothing that he will never wear again, a garage workbench he built with his father, and several family photos, all with him and that same giant smile. Just a few miles away there is a circle drawn on the pavement in spray paint where he landed. The site just off the side of the road is filled with flowers, and notes of condolence. Four people wander this house, searching for answers, for a way out of this darkness, for peace. We have faith that he is in a better place, but we weren't ready to let him go from this one yet.
So no. I'm not satisfied. The only way I would be is if he were back here in human form, in my arms again.
This. Written in the present tense. I don't know if I'll ever settle into referring to Bill in the past tense.
ReplyDeleteThere's no satisfaction to be had here.
You experienced LOVE at the utmost highest level with Bill. And now you are left with PAIN at the highest level, off the charts.....all because of LOVE. You can't feel this pain without having felt first the love. The PAIN may or may not ever go away, or may drop to a lower level, but the LOVE will always be held at the highest level. I pray you can find some comfort in that.
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