I think I always believed we would get back together. No, I know I did. They said we "separated," but that is not really true. We no longer shared a roof, but we would always share a child. How can you sever that kind of bond? Even now, in death, he is with me always. In her face, her smile, the color of her hair, the way she tilts her head and frowns when she is thinking. I had a hard time facing him -- her -- at first. But now that some of the pain has dulled -- not subsided, not gone away, only lessened into something more bearable -- I cherish the little slivers of him I can see in her. Through our daughter, he can and will live on, and then through her children, and theirs. He may never grow old, we may never sit on a porch and rock back and forth while looking out over the fields of his youth, his home country, we may never hold hands again. But we will always have her. I will care for him, through her, in the way that I was never able to care for him in this life.
No comments:
Post a Comment