I sat on the cracked leather sofa, my hair shielding my face. My eyes were sunken in with dark purple bruises brimming them. It’s been one year. One year since my heart was torn out my chest, thrown on the ground, and stomped on over and over. I questioned why God hated me so much, why he knocked me down every single time I got too happy. It’s been one year since that thunder storm took the life of the one thing that was good for me. He was the only thing that made me smile. Nothing else mattered, nothing else compared.
It’s the one year anniversary of my husband’s death. I blame myself. I was the one who asked him to get me ice cream. All I wanted was cookies and cream ice cream. So he put on his rain boots, picked up his keys, and drove. I waited two hours for him. He didn’t call, he didn’t text. I didn’t call him because… Because… Why didn’t I call him? I don’t know the answer to that. I should’ve called him.
When the phone rang, I expected it to be him, saying he got stuck in traffic or he was helping an old lady across the street. He was kind like that, selfless. He didn’t think about himself.
But I was cut off. “Is this Mrs. Evans?” the voice spoke and I froze. Why wasn’t it him? Where was he?
“Y-yes, this is she,” I stuttered, afraid.
“Ma’am, your husband has been found in a car wreck. I’m sorry ma’am, he’s gone,” the police officer said and I broke down.
How does one cope with the loss of a loved one? How one deal with the grief and the emptiness that settles in your chest where your heart once lived? How do you cope? I found the letter on his one year anniversary. I found it hidden in his night table, the first time I had opened it since that day. I was too scared to look, too afraid to remember. There was a folded a piece of paper in the corner, the paper slightly teared in the corner, stained with drops of coffee.
My hands trembled as I opened the rough paper and read:
“Honey, I love you. Don’t ever forget that. I still can not believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you. You are amazing and beautiful. I may not say it all the time, but you are my world. I love you! -X John.”
I felt something move inside of me, something click. He loved me, he always had, he always would. I don’t believe in faith or luck or karma. But I believe in love. I believe that love is undying. I believe that things happen for some type of reason. I don’t know the reason John had to die. But I know he will always watch over me and that he loved me.
I only wish I could’ve let him know how much I love him too.