I'll Follow You Into the Dark.

Mornings are always the worst. I have no idea why. Is it because...
A. I wake up alone, without my "Warmie" to cuddle up to?
B. I don't get to quote a Disneyland ride, saying, "Wake up, Pooh...Wake up! Wake up, Pooh!"?
C. I don't get to smother her rosy cheeks and neck with tiny, good-morning kisses, evoking a lazy, close-eyed smirk?
D. Without her to care for, I feel like I have no reason to get out of bed or to continue living?
E. Both A & C.
F. All of the above.

I really don't have an answer. I don't know if it's one of those things, or all of them. I guess it's impossible to figure out and that it doesn't matter. But I know that the feeling I had when the doctor told me that I wouldn't be seeing the love of my life come out of surgery hits me every single morning.
I feel it physically. My ears go numb. My stomach starts squirming anxiously and rather noisily. I get shaky and weak.
I feel it emotionally. I feel lost and confused. I feel like life is worthless. And most of all, I feel guilty for breaking my promise to her.
I promised Marie that if she died before I did, whether she was 99 or 23, I would kill myself and follow after her. She, likewise, promised that if I died before she did, she would follow me. The only exception to the promise was if we had children. Of course, they would need their remaining parent, and so that parent would soldier on.
But we didn't get the chance to have the baby I so desperately wanted. I'm here alone.
I'm pretty sure that she can see me, and probably hear me. I think that she remembers who I was. I think that she prays for me. But I wonder if she is waiting for me. I wonder if she is hurt by the fact that I have intentionally broken my promise.
Somehow, I want her to be hurt. That would mean that she missed me and that she was anxiously awaiting our reunion. It pains me to know that she no longer needs me, and that she is happier now, without me near, than she ever was living with me.

There is no happy conclusion to this post. The best I can give you is that the pain subsides in the afternoon and evening. Sometimes it even gives way to a diminished, but sincere smile. Yesterday evening, I even ate some of her gummy bears, and I smiled, thinking of her sitting next to me, sharing her favorite candy with me. But, it got late, and I got tired.
I went to bed.
And then I woke up.





{I dedicate this song to my beloved Marie. I am coming along, right behind you, Sweetheart. I don't know if I will see you in 80 years or 80 minutes, but I will love you the same either way. I just hope that if it's 80 years, that time is different to you now, and that you'll think I've only been gone for a few minutes. And most of all, I hope that you still love me, and maybe even miss me.}



{Oh, and if you think of it, Sweetie, maybe you could even ask God to let us see each other soon.
I love you!!!}