My Pond Is

Someone asked me, "Didn't you know? Weren't you expecting this?

I had no answer. Of course, she was right. I must have known, but didn't believe it.

How could I have known? Taking care of him was so hard. Harder than anything I had ever done in my life. I believed I could keep it up; I knew he couldn’t bring me with him, so why didn't I know?

And then after the end, I was numb.

We always spoke of what would happen if the other went first. How frivolous we were. How could either of us have guessed.

I would laughingly say, it would be fine if he found someone to have dinner with, a friend, but no way should he ever love again. And I meant it.

And then I would add seriously that whichever one survived would spend the rest of their days in overwhelming loneliness. How prophetic I was.

But yet I had no conception of how totally consuming the loneliness could be.

It is 11 years now since we said goodbye. The final goodbye that I dreaded from the night we met 68 years ago - on the very day January 2, 1950.

One of our sons told me the other night, "Mom, he's gone. He's not coming back."

Of course, he's not. So why do I think when the phone rings, it could be him telling me it's okay. It was all just a bad dream.

Why, when I go into the market do I think, "Oh, he'd like some of that," and put it into the wagon."

Why, when I open the door do I look for him.

Sometimes I remember when things were so good between us, and then I feel guilty. I wish I had tried harder; I wish I had been better, made those last years easier. I wish, oh I wish so many things.

But most of all I wish he hadn't died.

It is beginning to snow today, and the temptation to put my head on a pillow in the room upstairs and close my eyes is getting stronger. Then I think would I want him to do that if I had been the one to leave first.

Of course not. I would chide him impatiently as I did so often and say, "Oh, Art, don't do that. It isn't good for you."

So maybe, just maybe, he's saying the same thing to me right now. "Anne, don't do that. Take care of yourself. Read a book, listen to some music. Keep going. The snow will melt. And I'm not really far away."

And I really really believe that, but oh, I miss him so much.

“I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;”

Yet, I know I will go on alone because

“Your light’s still shining and it helps me hold back the dark.”