Akito HirataI haven't told a lot of people this, but
March 23rd 2008 19:58
when I was a young woman in my first prime (And I write 'first prime' because, even though I'm an elderly woman, I'm in another prime, and still a pretty good damn catch for some wrinkly old man in his second prime).
So, when I was a young woman in my first prime, and had pert breasts, not these saggy things I have now, I led a charmed existence, and wrote a few novels under a non-de-plume (which is not a plucked lyrebird feather that you hide under to write a secret book. It's an anonymous name to protect your privacy).
After my husband died, I grieved. I loved him. He was a great man.
After I got over my grieving. Which took me many years. Because I loved him. And he loved me.
I still remember the night he expired. I'll never forget it. It's etched indelibly into my soul. It was one of the best and worst nights of my life. I was so happy that his soul was going to wing its way to heaven, but I was so sad to be losing the companionship of one of the greatest men to ever grace this planet with his footsteps.
I watered his working boots with my tears for many days afterwards. I just held those old, worn boots of his. The ones moulded to the shape of his beautiful feet. The feet he used to walk towards me for the first time. The feet that trecked to and fro to work every day, because he believed it was healthy for a man to work manually. With his hands. And his feet. I looked at the scratches and stains and scuff-marks on his boots, and the peculiar way the soles had worn down due to the way he walked. And I just cried. It was like reading a history book. Or looking at a photo-album of his wonderful life. I could have filled those boots with my tears. They were a remnant. A reminder of his wonderful life. They were a relic to me. The shoes of a saint.
There is nothing on this earth that compares to the love of a good, honest, just working man. He was a just man, my husband. That's the best way I could describe him.
When I think of all the bad marriages out there, I could weep tears of blood. It's not always the man's fault. Women should share the blame too. But to think of a bad marriage makes me shudder. Because a good marriage is the most wonderful thing.
He even apologised to me for dying that night. He just turned to me and said, "Our God is calling me. I have to go."
I think I nodded through my tears. I know I accepted it. It was God's will. Who can resist God? Who, apart from the insane would want to?
He died in my arms. I honestly didn't want to let him go.
I'll continue this later. I'm too emotional at the moment.
| 122 |
| Vote |
subscribe to this blog
Comment by Anonymous
Comment by Ann 1
Bloganymity
Comment by tlcorbin
I have promised my wife to live a day longer than she, so that I can comfort her while she passes and I have every intention of keeping that promise. I had been an emotional wasteland for years prior to meeting and marrying; at the very least, I would like her to draw the same measure of strength from our time together as I have, and to remember me kindly if it proves out that I expire first.
Raven
Comment by Ann 1
Bloganymity
It's nice to be admired. Even by snipers?
I'm sure your wife does think kindly of you. And I see no reason why she would ever not think kindly of you. You speak of and about her in a manner that would make it difficult to think anything else.
Ann.