i was getting used to being someone oyu loved

she caused me the greatest pain i will ever know. she was unkind and selfish. she was amoral and decedent. and she did it all 37 years we were together.

when my father got ill, she would set and stare at me as i looked out the window pondering how long it would be before i became an orphan. on the drive down to huntington, my hands would shake on the steering wheel and she would put her hand on my thigh. she never spoke, she just placed her hand on my thigh and my hands would immediately stop shaking, she calmed me.

when ever i had times of trouble and i would begin to shake, she would only have to touch me and my troubles seemed to melt away and i could think and make my way through it all.

my way of dealing with bad times was simply to push it all down, be stoic and use that strength for others to lean on. i never cried, no matter how much i wanted to, because my father told me real men dont shed tears. and so i became a real man.

when my father died, i took it badly and she knew i would. she would come to me and place her hand on my thigh and the touch of her hand burned like fire though me, cleaning out the wounds that life inflicted on me.

when her father died, it hit me hard, he was more my father than my dad was and in the dark hours of early morning, when she needed to be saved from the grief of her father and the pain her boyfriend was causing her, we would curl into each other for the relief we needed.

when her mother died, she took it well, but there were times when i would place my hand on her thigh and she would look at me with tear stained eyes knowing that i loved her and never understanding why.

when she lost her leg, for the 3 months we was still here, she did her best to push me away and i did all i could to keep her safe and healthy.

when i came home from work and her other men were in our home, i stood aside, respecting her other relationships and waited for them to leave.

she would ask me why i loved her, i told her it was something she could never understand and if she had to ask, then it was true.

i told her about a dream i had, where she was dead and no matter how much i begged it was too late, she couldnt stay.

2 days later she died.

it will be 3 years on July 15 and there has not been one day that i have not spilled a tear. i wander around my house like a lost puppy looking for her. i drive, i drive everyday thinking that i will find her with one of her others and stand aside until she see’s me and comes to me and speaks to me, or put her hand on my thigh…

i know that she is dead and her ashes are lying on a beach in Jersey along with my beloved Jasper. i know it because i was the one who told the doctors to just let her die. i was the one who drove to the funeral home and picked up her ashes. i was the one who went through her things and doled them out to whomever they needed to go to. i was the one, on a rainy day in New Jersey who emptied out her urn on her favorite beach and sat watching the tide rush in.

i know shes dead. and i am cursed with hope. hope that one day i will pass her on the street and she will look at me and tear up and ask for my forgiveness one more time so we can go home.

hope is the drug of fools. hope is a cruel, unforgiving master that tugs at our leashes, making us all believe in something that we will never have and when we get close, it tugs hard at our leash and takes away the only thing we truly ever want…

i am left now with only one hope.

that there is someone to cry at my funeral…