She Left This Life and My Heart Went With Her

I’d Give Most of My Remaining Years to Have Her Back

The years and the memories I had with her simply weren’t enough. Photo by author

I’d always known this day was coming. But it’s not something you think about often, especially in the beginning. Most people have relationships. We had a love story.

It was written over decades. Our story was filled with special events, photographs, love, and most of all, laughter. You always said that was your favorite thing about us. I wholeheartedly agreed.

I brought a U-Haul to your house on our second date, metaphorically speaking. I cooked spaghetti dinner for you and our three children. We familiarized ourselves with each other, made jokes, and hugged in the kitchen to the background noise of grade schoolers playing and laughing together in the family room.

They gladly accepted the eviction papers we served them from Mom’s bed that night under the guise of them having a Saturday night sleepover. After so much playing, they finally crashed out late, and we loved each other as quietly as possible. We rarely left your bedroom during our first months together.

Time passed and we became a family. Five days and pages into our first chapter, I asked if you needed a night off. I didn’t want to be assuming or smother you with the affection I had for you right from the start. You politely declined and told me you’d never been so comfortable with someone that quickly.

I took a lot of pride in that and felt the same way. Obviously. You can see it in this picture of us at Christmas, just weeks after we’d started dating. My parents welcomed this brand new person into their home and their hearts. They saw the goodness and light that you were.

I look like a cat who just swallowed a canary at Christmas. I knew I’d found the best woman on the planet.

The holidays came and went and we got to work on building a life together. Blended families with small children don’t always automatically mesh. Either we lucked out or our kids were exceptional because they became the best of friends, just as we were doing.

You encouraged me to quit the job that was making me miserable and bet on myself and my small carpet cleaning company. I praised the artwork you’d started doing again. How could I not? It was incredible. You told me that your ex-husband never complimented it. I thought he was a fool.

Being each others’ biggest supporters and cheerleaders came naturally. It would never occur to me to NOT cheer you on. We did the same for our children. They became used to us being constant fixtures at their music performances and sporting events. Our family bond strengthened by supporting them and each other in all that we did.

For years, we told each other we didn’t need the government to get involved in our relationship. We felt married in our hearts, where it mattered. That eventually changed and you accepted my ring and my last name. We had kindness, patience, and laughter. We were happy and content.

Not that there was never conflict, stress, or the occasional argument. Any new relationship has bumps in the road. But we navigated those well and nothing could ever make us crash. The road of our couple’s journey would never come to a dead end, and we never ran out of gas.

The only way we’d stop traveling together would be for one of us to reach our final destination. Tragically, your stop came before mine.

We’d each always say that we were going to go before the other. Oddly, we started saying that in our 40s. We knew that we’d never want to live without our other person. We were a bonded pair of human beings.

You took that final sleep and we were lost without you. Never was there a dog who was more loved.

I haven’t felt a deep, intense feeling of sadness and dread since our beloved dog Libby passed. As she continued to age and slow down, a horribly stressful feeling of dread overwhelmed us both. As we held her little baby paw one last time and wept over her slowly falling into her final sleep, our hearts were shattered.

It’s not always easy to do the right thing. She was in pain. She looked up at us with a sense of gratitude and love. She would have licked the tears from our faces if she could have. We held each other and cried ourselves to sleep so many nights.

I started thinking about our endings after that, more so than usual. I’ve never been comfortable with death. I’d worried about it for years before losing Mooch. My brain started working overtime once she was gone. Though my inevitable passing was a scary thought, I always figured that I’d be the one to go first.

You were healthier. You ate smaller portions than I did at dinner. You weren’t a drinker while I enjoyed a large glass of wine most nights. You weren’t supposed to go before me.

Call it selfish, but I didn’t want to see the kids mourning your sudden passing. When you love a parent as much as they did, the loss is unreal. It’s almost impossible not to give up and fall completely apart. I had to pull it together, for their sake. And by being the strong one in doing that, our family is surviving.

But it’s not the same. How could it be? I don’t know how to move forward with the time I have left. My fingers keep my brain distracted as I continue to write daily, yet my heart has reduced in size. I’m stuck in a bad dream that is impossible to awaken from. I’ll never recover from this.

When Libby passed, we brought another dog into our family and he filled that part of our hearts that was missing. I knew she’d want us to love again and to give another pet the love and affection we’d given to her daily. She lived on through our new furry friend. Still, I can’t imagine that scenario with another human being.

It wouldn’t feel right to have someone with me other than you. We’ll be ok, just me and my companion. Photo: Bing

I know that you’d want that for me, just as Libby wanted it for us. Logically, wanting to have companionship and to love again makes sense. But I can’t bring myself to betray the memory of us with someone else. It would be unfair to them, as I’d always be comparing our love story to the comic book romance with someone new.

I’ll get by until we hopefully meet again. My writing will be my refuge, my salvation from the loss of my best friend and favorite person. Companionship with pets will have to do. Our grown children will help me to appreciate the rest of the time I have left. You’d be so proud of the great things they are accomplishing and the wonderful people they continue to be.

I often think of that Billy Vera song from the famous break-up scene between Alex and Ellen on Family Ties. Remember us watching that wonderful 80s sitcom together? Because of that scene, I never thought of this lyric in terms of losing a loved one.

It’s certainly taken a different meaning for me, now. This was the first thing that came to mind as I sat in the hospital, holding your hand as you left me, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“What do you think I would give at this moment, If you’d stay I’d subtract twenty years from my life
I’d fall down on my knees
Kiss the ground that you walk on
If I could just hold you again”

It’s not that “you just don’t love me no more.” Our love will continue for an eternity, long after we’re both gone. Our children will tell their children about it. People will read the loving things we wrote about each other, on social media and through my writing.

Yes, I’d subtract 20 years from my life just to hold you again. I love you, Gorgeous Woman.

*This is a fictional account of how I imagine losing my Bride would feel. I can assure you though that she’s alive and well. And being loved, valued, and appreciated. &:^)

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