Anxiety

This new version of life.

This life that exists in the now.

The one where my husband,

is no longer my husband,

by law.

Because he is dead.

And you can’t be married

to a dead person.

By law.

You might still FEEL married,

like I did,

for almost 4 years,

after his death.

You might feel as if even looking

at another man

is cheating,

and it feels wrong

and awful,

and you feel like a terrible wife,

like I did.

You may still wear

your wedding ring,

or his.

Or maybe you move it

to your other hand.

Or have it made

into a necklace.

Which is your right.

And an honor

to do so.

Or

you lose it,

or you notice one day,

that when you look down

at your hand,

to do that thing

you always do,

where you roll your thumb

over your ring

because it’s oddly

and stupidly

comforting,

that the ring is missing.

Its not there.

Its gone.

Disappeared into thin air,

just like your husband.

And your hand is naked.

And you go numb for awhile.

And then you cry

until you cant breathe.

And you feel guilty for months.

And you feel like he just died

all over again.

And nobody understands.

And you get accused

of being over-dramatic.

You get told

to get over it.

You get told

that you aren’t

married

anymore

anyway,

because he is dead.

You get told

that losing your

wedding ring

was “a sign”

that it’s time

to “move on.”

And you want to punch

the person who said that

right in the eyeball,

and then kick them

over and over again,

until they hurt

until they bleed

until they scream

in pain,

as much as you do,

Everyday.

But you know

it wont help.

You know

they will never

get it,

until

they get it.

Until they find

themselves

running their

thumb

along the finger

where their

wedding ring

used to be.

Because their husband

is dead forever,

and the ring,

the symbol of that

great love,

one of the only things

that comforts them,

is physical proof

Evidence,

that he existed.

Because sometimes,

lots of times,

they have to

remind themselves

that their love

really

happened.

That they

didn’t

just

imagine it.

And the ring

is the perfect reminder.

Until it’s not.

Until it’s gone.

Until you find yourself,

in a corner,

looking through

your wedding albums,

peeking at

your wedding video,

hearing the sound

of his voice.

Watching him smile

and laugh,

and dance,

and then running

into the bathroom,

to throw up.

To have a meltdown.

To shake

and panic.

Anxiety.

Again.

Because your husband,

no longer smiles,

or laughs,

or dances.

Those are just video clips,

from a time,

that is gone.

And seeing that,

watching that,

up close,

is heart-wrenching.

But you miss him

SO MUCH,

that you keep watching,

sometimes,

even though,

you know,

it will bring you torture.

But

torture,

is better

than the nothingness

of him

being

forever

gone.

Six years later.

2 days ago,

in fact.

Your new love,

has gone a few hours,

without responding,

to your texts.

You were

supposed to talk,

later that night.

But he goes silent.

Hours go by.

You leave voicemails.

Text him.

You pace.

You worry.

Panic sets in.

You know the drill.

People disappear.

They die.

With no warning.

You start talking

to yourself.

All the what if’s.

Maybe he had

a heart-attack,

with no symptoms,

no warning.

Just like

your husband.

Maybe he collapsed,

and was alone,

for too long,

to be saved.

And maybe

you will have to

go through

all the guilt

and the pain

the torture

All over again.

Who would even tell you,

if he died?

You aren’t his wife.

You love him.

He loves you.

But the relationship

is new.

And not many people

in his world

know yet,

who you are,

or know your number,

to call you,

and tell you,

that your world just ended.

So you panic.

Because you

CANNOT

go through

this again.

You cannot

lose this person

already.

NO.

And so,

six years later,

you find yourself

rocking back and forth,

sitting in your dead husband’s

recliner chair,

crying,

but the silent kind of

crying,

where it just happens,

without any effort,

or sound.

And your thumb,

starts to slowly move,

out of instinct,

over and over

that finger,

where your

wedding ring,

used to be,

and hasn’t been,

for 4 years,

since it went missing.

But now,

that naked skin,

it oddly comforts you,

to stroke it,

even though

nothing

is there.

It fans the

ANXIETY

to a dull roar.

It forces you

into a rhythm,

of breathing again.

“It will be okay.

It will be okay.

Everything

will be okay.

Today.”

Later on,

the next morning,

when he finally calls you,

and tells you that

he simply fell asleep

early

the night before,

you breathe

a sigh of relief,

and feel almost

silly,

for all the panic.

But you know,

what you know,

and this is just how it is,

in your mind.

And you wonder,

how the hell,

am I going to do this,

how am I going

to lose

someone I love,

to death,

Again.

One day.

Someday.

I might have to

figure

that out.

I might have to.

But that

day

is not

Today.

Today,

I take comfort,

in the naked skin,

where my love

once

slipped

a beautiful ring

on my finger,

and we smiled,

and cried,

on that snowy night,

in the cold,

one week

before Christmas.

And we lived.

We existed.

And we loved.

We love.

And the fact

that I can love

this man

now,

today,

so much,

that I cannot bear

to picture life

without him,

is Evidence,

along with

the nakedness

of my finger,

that

Love

Grows

Love.

Right now.

Today.

In this second.

Everything

is

Going

to

Be

Okay.