Saturday morning

It’s another Saturday.

Right about now, I should be hearing you in the shower, softly singing those treasured church hymns of long ago.

Smelling your Irish Spring or Safeguard soap through the house.

In a few more minutes, I should be hearing our bedroom door open, as you walk through softly humming.

I should be feeling your arms wrapping around my waist, as you lay your damp beard on my neck, and whisper – “Hey good-looking, whatcha got cooking?”

I would pour 2 cups of coffee, turn and place them on the table.

Then you would softly pull me onto your knees for a good morning kiss.

There would be the quiet of the morning with coffee, looking across the table at one another, but few words being spoken.

A light touch of the fingertips.

Your Bible open before you.

But.

You aren’t here.

I am alone with my memories.

I should be gathering up the coffee mugs, filling them again to enjoy a 2^nd cup of coffee while we fixed breakfast together.

I should be smelling the bacon and eggs, hearing the sizzle of the potatoes in the skillet.

I should be slicing the tomatoes that you enjoyed with your eggs.

I should be swirling the gravy getting it to that just right consistency.

Right about now, you would be sharing something that spoke to you from your Bible reading.

We should be discussing that particular thought.

Then, a hug and a forehead kiss.

That intimate soul friendship.

And then, the stupid dad jokes and puns – which would make me laugh and giggle.

We would sit down, softly hold hands as you asked God’s Blessing on the food, on our lives, and on our day.

We would eat, taking our time, no rush – it’s a Saturday morning.

Occasionally our fingers would touch, or our toes under the table.

Softly talking – an old story retold, a joke repeated, a news article discussed.

Plans for the day made.

Remembering the week we’ve just survived.

But instead, I only hear the hum of the frig, and an occasional vehicle on the road outside.

The silence is almost a physical thing these days.

How many Saturdays has it been since you have been more than a memory?

Somewhere around 500 now.

Some think I should be an “old hand” at this life alone.

Some are wrong.

I miss you as much on this Saturday as I have missed you on every Saturday since you went away.

If I am careful, with my back to the room, I think I can hear you softly breathing while I write in my journal.

If I don’t turn around, I won’t know that you aren’t here.

I can gently and carefully bring you back to life as I sit here at the computer, writing these love thoughts and memories.

My memories give you form, and life.

But.

Memories aren’t as enjoyable when my memory keeper is no longer here to share them with me.

Memories feel lopsided – without you.

I miss our life together.

I miss our rituals and routines.

I miss the innuendos between us – the word or two, just a glance, a light touch, a small smile.

This missingness will never go away – I know that now.

Because you will always be missing from me.

Now, on this another Saturday, as on every day of the week, I search for a way to live while I miss you.

How do I complete our unfinished life?

Our unfinished love?

We should be cleaning up the kitchen now, silly dancing to some old rock and roll song on the radio.

We should be flicking soap suds at one another.

We should be getting dressed to go out to one of our grand weekend adventures.

But WE aren’t.

Because there is no more “WE”.

There is only ME now.

Life has profoundly changed – more than these words can tell.

Instead of living life with you, I find myself writing about our memories more and more.

Never ever would I have thought that this would be my Saturday morning routine.

But.

Here I am.

Doing this.

I hope you would be proud of me today.

If for no other reason, surviving the grief to this point.

Oh, how I miss our days together.

But realizing that I did not die – you did.

And I must live.

For you.

For me.

For us.

For our unfinished life.

I am doing this because what other choice do I have?

I would not want to see your eyes filled with disappointment.

I must be present in the moment – no matter where I am, no matter what I do, no matter who I am with . . . even alone.

This rebuilding my life is a process – but my life is worth the effort.

So was – and is – yours.

So is our unfinished life & love.

I miss you, Rick.

No less than ever.

Your Megan Lee, forever.