I just got word that one of the women I love most is dealing with a significant loss. Her husband passed away in a car accident last night. Quick– and hopefully without suffering (for him, at least). For her and her four beautiful children, however, I’m sure it’s a much different story.
Death is a strange, uncomfortable thing for me. It usually results in some sort of awkward smile, a nauseous feeling, and an incredible ability to shut off part of my brain. My grandfather’s passing years ago sparked the change in reaction. I guess I don’t even know what a “normal” reaction would or should be considered. So, never mind that.
I can’t even imagine. I love my husband, a lot. I don’t always like him — 50% of the time if we are lucky. He knows me well, especially since he knows each and every nerve to pluck. If he were gone tomorrow though, I’m not sure what sort of emotion I would be feeling. It might be hard to feel anything, really. I think I would feel numb…for a very long time.
My friend has four children, a house, a farm, and a job. I have a dog, a rented apartment, and a career. I would say that’s not even remotely a comparison. Four children? *Sighs* That’s about as hard as trying to pay for four mortgages, I’d say. This same friend cooks and cleans for her family…and somehow manages to cook and clean for an entire Target family on top of it all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her slow down or take a moment for herself. She amazes me. Every day.
My husband helps with a lot. I couldn’t do it all on my own like her. When we moved into our new apartment, he helped pack up our old one and did all of the heavy lifting. He helped me with the painting, and even though it was to curb his own OCD, he unpacked all of my clothes for me as well. He tries. Hard.
Still, I make fun of his eating habits, his lack of hair at a young age, and his stupid morning voice. And oddly enough, I would regret my own eating habits if it weren’t for his. I would have to wait on my husband to fix his hair before going out if he had more, and I would have to play Chatty Cathy in the morning if he were better at AM conversation.
“Till death do us part…” That could be tomorrow. Or Friday. Or Saturday. Or a year from now. Or ten. Either way you slice it, dice it, or dress it up, I wouldn’t ever be prepared. I couldn’t possibly. “Till death do us part…” You bet your ass I will be here with him each step of the way, with every new hair lost.