On my morning run, my mental work before my morning prayers was to think of how I will get through the next few weeks leading up to the anniversary of Gene’s death.

My husband, the man I loved with a passion that moved the earth, killed himself last December. My world stopped, became dark, became without light. Some small sliver of primal survival kept me physically alive but spiritually desolate. Why did the man who said that I would be the last person he loved on this earth, not love me enough for me to see his pain and darkness? Where was I in those days, weeks and months before he committed this unspeakable act of robbing the world of the beauty of his supremely amazing talent and presence? Why could I not see this?

As I napped briefly, early this afternoon, in a huge overstuffed chair in the surgeon’s lounge, my guilty pleasure when my last case was done before my administrative meetings. I was blissfully in his arms, playing the verbal sparring that was a source of pleasure many times between us. I was in that state of joyous happiness that I awakened smiling, only to realize that I was alone in reality and he is not physically present. It was a dream.

Instead of moving into the dark sadness that usually washes over me when I would experience such moments of dreaming only to come back to reality, I came to realize that Gene IS  with me. The relationships do not die with the physical person. God allows us to keep the relationships, the connections. Gene is part of me and joy is still with me. The dark moments will be there but the bliss, the joy is there too. For this, I am grateful to God.


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