Love is forever…One woman’s journey with grief

Getting to his airport and not having him there to pick me up was as hard as I thought it’d be. I wiped away tears and tried to pull it together while I awaited my chauffeur, the wife of his best friend.

The actual visit with the family and friends was lovely. They were warm and kind, and there was much laughter. His sister brought a bunch of pictures from the service, of which the one above was one, and I sat in front of them and cried. I didn’t want the evening to end, for a lot of reasons. The questions I was most afraid of weren’t asked, and I didn’t volunteer. The mementos I wanted most weren’t offered, but perhaps they will be yet. I didn’t ask again. I’m trying to have faith. We’ll see how long I can hold out. They appreciated the goodies I brought them, though.

Despite the late hour, his best friend and his lovely wife brought me by A’s shop, and his apartment. It was hard to touch his shop door, and know he’d not be making sawdust there anymore. The apartment was, as expected, even more difficult, because we spent so much time there. Someone else is already living in it. To stand in the hallway of doors wasn’t hard on me; it was the smell of the hallway that sent me reeling backward in time, as I stood there and waited while he opened the door. I stood there for awhile, trying to memorize the scent, knowing it was futile; memories of scent are usually triggered by smelling the same scent later. And then with tears brimming in my eyes I headed back down to the waiting car, turned back again and stood there a moment or two longer, and then gave up. A doesn’t live there anymore, and I didn’t want anyone to wonder why a strange woman was wandering the hallway of the apartment building at midnight.

We got to the hotel at almost 1 a.m., and his friend walked me in to make sure I got situated. Then I went up to my room, washed my face, put on a t-shirt, and cried myself to sleep.