Does Time Heal All Wounds?

 I have a screen saver on my computer monitor.  I've had it there for a little over 3 years.  I can't take it down or replace it with another picture just yet.  It's a picture of just me and Bill.  Bill had already received the devastating diagnosis of Small Cell Lung Cancer (SCLC).  He had been through radiation and chemotherapy and had lost all his hair.  I liked his bald head.  I could rub it and wish for things that I would never receive and I liked to kiss it.  Just rub the top of his head and kiss it.  The action almost made me one with him.  

So this picture, screen saver on my computer, is of Bill and I simply looking into the camera.  It''s a great picture of he and I looking into the camera.  His chin is pressing lightly against my forehead to the side and we are both smiling as if nothing were wrong; but we both know that time is not on our side. 

On April 29, 2021, my dear sweet husband will be gone from his early home for 3 years.  It's sad of me to want him with me when I know he is in perfect health with his Maker.  Is it normal that I still feel the pain I felt when he first died.  It was then I knew that hearts can break and once they break they are never the same again.  

It's almost 3 years and I can't break this pain that surrounds me.  It's almost as if I can't breathe the pain is so great.  I have to be thankful for the pain I feel today because there are those who are alive today who have never felt the love that Bill gave to me so easily.  I had a friend tell me that she has "never experienced that kind of love in her life."  So, in a way, I need to feel grateful for my tears.  My tears are a sign that this mere mortal man transformed my life into something beautiful and wonderful.  This man gave me two beautiful children who are a constant reminder that Bill was here and he did exist and he existed to love his wife and children; but mostly he loved and trusted in his Maker.

Rocking Chairs of Dreams

Today I woke early and Bill was on my mind, as he usually is.  I sat in the chair that I always sat in which was across from the chair Bill always sat in, but his chair was empty again.  He and I would sit in our chairs, pray, meditate and search God's will in our lives.  It was a wonderfully spiritual part of our lives and I miss that so badly.  At the end of our "session," he's smile and say, "That's it," and then he's lean over and kiss me. I'd stand and kiss his bald head.  I loved that part of our morning. 

After praying and meditating we'd discuss the world's problems and iron them all out before breakfast.  Mornings were great here and I'm so grateful to have had so many years of them with Bill before he died.  Bill and I had a "pack."  When we both retired we would buy two wooden rocking chairs and set them out on our porch and grow old together.  We'd sit on our rocking chairs and discuss our children, our grand dogs, and our life in general.  That never happened and we never bought those rocking chairs.  We were close, but life took a deadly turn and the dream ended. 
Now I go to Cracker Barrel and places like that and look at all the rocking chairs lined up on their porch and think of all the times Bill and I could have had solving the nation's problems on our own rocking chairs.  I imagine we would sit on the porch, rocking back and forth while the wind chimes surrounding us would catch a breeze and play music for us.  He'd take my hand holding it that special way that only he held my hand.  The dream now is only alive in my brain.  I will never own a rocking chair to put out on my porch.  It's just not meant to be; but I'm okay with that now because I have so many other "real" memories that no one can remove. 

Bill was a sensitive man; a tender man, who rarely raised his voice to his children or me.  He always tried to reason out problems or conflicts.  He was a peacemaker and a man God truly loved.  Bill loved life and found blessings in almost everything; but he was real with God, telling Him when he was upset with Him and when he wanted things to go in a different direction than God planned.  But Bill and I had a saying which we ended with each prayer, "Your will God, not mine."  We both believed that our Higher Power knew what was best for us and what was going to happen down the road.  He had all the blueprints, we had only a piece and we tried to draft the whole blueprint from the tiny piece we were given. 

This morning is one of those mornings when I look at his empty chair and wonder why.  After almost two years, if I close my eyes, I can still hear his voice whispering in my ear, I can feel his soft lips on mine and I feel our two hearts beating together, then I open my eyes and it's all gone, except for the memory which will remain with me forever.  My throat fills with a lump I can't swallow away but no tears flow from my eyes today.  Not today, maybe tomorrow.