Facts are often bereft of Truth
I was rereading the profile I created at the widow board and I teared up, rather unexpectedly. The facts are cold, so cold they burn: “Sudden cardiac death, no known heart problems prior. 55 years old. Died July 2006.” I read it and I still find it hard to believe it’s talking about him, about an event in my life. It seems beyond bizarre to me, and I’ve been living it. I didn’t know there was such a thing as “sudden cardiac death” until it took my love away from me. I liked the world better when I didn’t know. And though I know this information, there is more that I don’t know; these facts do not answer the questions that matter to me.
I was there reading a thread where, for the holidays, people are putting up pictures of their loved ones. And suddenly all these names have faces. All these loves have form and warmth. All these pictures are of a romance that is present-tense. And I see faces even younger than mine, and I think, “No, this isn’t supposed to happen.” I guess it is, though, because it does. Every damn day.
My heart breaks for all of us.