The Courage of Forever After

Edgy. Unsettled. Perplexed.

Death does that. It doesn't just take a person; it comes and holds up a mirror, forcing us to confront ourselves in the sudden, glaring light of mortality. The shock is a spiritual inventory: Is this who I am meant to be? Am I leading an authentic life? Am I going deliberately about my life?

It scares me, Love.

The sheer folly of it all. Can one love too much, too deeply? Can the depth of the joy we experienced be precisely measured by the unbearable scale of the grief that must eventually follow? We build a bond so intricately woven that the mere thought of life without them renders the future unbearable. What madness for the one left behind once death has cast its mantle.

Heavy stuff, this death, this dying.

I feel weary, shoulders knotted, tears a constant under quivering eyelids. I’m not sure who I am mourning more: A man ripped away as if the Angel of Death was in haste?
Or a family left behind in grief, mourning their loved, knowing the big hole that would be left by his absence?

Why am I so deeply touched by news of someone’s passing, no matter what their age?

For some strange reason, when reading a novel, I tend to skim over the last page. There’s comfort in knowing the outcome, I suppose.

Am I brave enough for love in the face of death?
I stop for a moment, eyes flooding with tears. I wipe it away delicately, stroking feverish forehead in an attempt to still a foolish mind.

My thoughts turn to him, my old man, and to us.
We promised forever on our wedding day. The heavens opened up when we said, "I do," washing the world clean. He held my hand in his, running his fingers along my palm in long lines, promising time, promising eternity with each stroke. We didn’t enter into this lightly; Love is for the brave, not the foolhardy.

Now, after all these years, it seems more courage is required, because the stakes are so much higher. At first, it was a gamble, a beautiful risk. But now… now we know what we have to lose, and it is invaluable. The courage now is not to start the love story, but to keep creating memories, knowing the cost.

Am I brave enough?

The light of the computer screen irks me, the keys taunt me, raising more questions than answers. The whirring of my machine, usually so comforting, grates me, chides me into deeper thought than I am ready to address. Denial is not an option.

So I run away.

I get up, step away from the offending machine, and walk through the house quietly in mourning. I run to him, seeking him out. He is sleeping soundly. I pull back the covers, snuggle in, greedy to be close. He reaches for me, draws me in, flexes his feet to raise me and lock me in. I hear his breathing. It soothes me. It makes sense of everything. It is the soundtrack to my life. Quickly, our breathing becomes in sync, and I drift off... The pain is the price of the magic. I will not choose safety over this joy.

Brave enough?

We moved continents to be together. Stood hand-in-hand in shark-infested waters and climbed mountains together...

Together, invincible.

Only death to part.