The guilt eventually passed. Enjoying the company of friends and laughing seemed almost right. Months had passed. I congratulated myself on how well I handled Bru’s death overall.
I moved with my daughter to a new home. Always our first priority had been take care of the children; give them what they need. Wants, well that was another story. Bru and I had refused to buy ridiculously expensive clothing or get the current popular toy. It was more important to instill the three R’s: respect, responsibility and reliability.
Bru died in April. Jaimie and I moved in September, exactly three years after going to Pennsylvania to get help for her dad. It took two months to remodel the house and make it ours. Busy, that’s what I was, busy. Too busy to think. Putting off the moment when I had to really face our loss.
In November no more workers paraded through the house. The fresh paint smell disappeared. Every room was just as I had imagined.
For seven months I handled Bru’s death so well. The worst passed. I could breathe easy. No more keeping the television on for background noise. No more making work just to stay busy. Everyone was wrong – it didn’t take that long to overcome the loss of a husband, even one you loved dearly. No, it didn’t take long at all.
Just before Thanksgiving, I sat down one evening to watch television. No computer in my lap. No magazine waiting to be scanned. Nothing but me, the television and a fresh cup of coffee. I have no idea what was on the screen, because that’s when it happened.
The first tear caught me by surprise. It led the way for a flood. I gasped with the pain that slammed into me. Like the bitter waves battering the beach in a storm, each one rose more vicious than the last. Anger would no longer be denied its place. The sobs grew louder. The words of fury at my husband for leaving poured from my lips. Jaimie ran in, wanting to help. Seeing me crying, she broke down, too.
We held each other, rocking back and forth as the anger raged. Eventually our sobs quieted. Soft hiccups broke the silence. We hugged each other one last time. Without talking, we had given solace. Peace settled around us.
“All is well,” I said. “The anger, denial, and shock are gone. Everything will be fine.”
Neither of us heard Depression open the door ready for its time on stage.
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