The Day I Knew Love
It was April 13th, in the year of 1963 when my life changed forever
I felt the crunch of the twigs beneath my feet as they gave way to the weight of my frame. I wasnt sure what had led me to this place, but really where we choose to seek refuge is trivial in times like these. I knew all too well it didnt matter where I went; no where could hide me from this pain that refused to be consoled.
I watched the sunlight dancing on the water, clear reflections of what I once felt inside. It was beautiful and pure, and lovelyfeelings that had all too quickly been torn from me. They seemed only like a distant memory nowso unattainable it was hard to even imagine I once held them safely in my grasp. I couldnt help but wonder whywhy things happen the way that they do. What is it that makes a persons life wonderful one moment and then, in barely the passing of a new heartbeat, lets everything you held dear be ripped from you instantaneously?
I learned too late. I meant to say the things I felt, I longed to show her the way I adored her, but as time went by, the importance of life got in the way. But really, what is life? Is life the mundane tasks we label as valuable because they are simply urgent, though blatantly insignificant when looked at closely? No, these are not true life. They are simply what I valued as life until I was tragically taught the truth.
I remember the last evening well. I was exhausted and spent, and I recall telling Charlene I was too busy to spend time with her that night. There were too many cases to be dealt with, too much pressure to work through, no time for relaxing or a moment of peace. She was disappointed, as always, but I could see the piercing agony within her had now subsided to a dull ache that was worn well with the scars of time.
She never had been one to believe in divorce, as she proved day after day by staying with me. I knew her frustration and her unfulfillment, but I just let these fester within her. I hadnt the time or the energy to deal with her. She would stay with me, I knew, and having the security of a warm body beside me each night proved to be enough.
Its not that I didnt treat her well. Believe me, I showered her with gifts of gold and the finest fashions each anniversary, every Christmasbut now I see that was all to loss. She knew my methodsmy secretary was to send her flowers and perfume each Valentines Day, to make sure she was delivered a poem with my name signed at the bottom, to show her my adoration for her through these things--- I thought I was being a decent husband. Yet now I see that these traditions, these things that I felt were proper for the occasions, were simply thoughtless and insincere.
My work was my life. She knew it. From the moment I took the job at the firm, she became second. Not on purpose, of course. But as the paperwork piled in and the late night hours took their toll, she began to see that I would never again be the man she once loved so deeply. I knew it subconsciously, but never would acknowledge it aloud. Speaking it made it real; it meant I had to deal with it. And I didnt feel like I could handle that. I had enough on my plate.
So we played the part of this perfect couple. I went to work and brought in the money, provided for her and the kids. She stayed at home and raised them well, with manners and respect. To everyone else we seemed to have this wonderful family. Only the four of us knew what happened behind our tightly locked doors. It was those things, the screams mostly, that will haunt my deepest parts until the day that I die
There is a noise in the distance and I am snapped out of the prison that is my own thoughts and secrets. I look up to see beauty in all directions, as far as the river extends to the east and as vast as the expanse of clear sky above me stretches. There is no one there.
Now I am back. Back from the nightmare that plays itself in my head time and time again, back from the agony of reliving the sequence of events that led to her death. It is of no comfort, for I am now back to the consequences, returned to the empty longing that I know shall never be filled. I am a grown man, yet as I sit on the floor of this desolate forest, I am too empty to feel any shame as I bow my head and my shoulders begin to heave from the weight of my continuous sobs.
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