The Swings

We’ve shared countless laughs, played endless games, and cherished beautiful moments together. As the sun dips below the horizon, I sit quietly on the swing, tracing circles in the dirt with the tip of my tennis shoe.

“I miss living with you, Andre,” I confess, my voice tinged with sadness.

Andre reaches out, his hand enveloping mine, as warm and reassuring as ever. “I know what you mean,” he says gently. “But the job opportunity I took was something I couldn’t pass up. I’m making a difference in people’s lives.”

I nod, taking a deep breath to steady myself. Changing the subject, I recall a memory. “Remember that tiny turtle we found crossing the sidewalk? You scooped it up and put it in your pocket.”

Andre laughs. “It wouldn’t have made it otherwise.”

“And the dog you brought home, starved and frail? We loved her until she was positively roly-poly.”

Andre nods, a smile on his face. “I thought she looked like a little deer, so I named her Bambi. But we always called her Baby Girl.”

“You’ve always been patient with me, especially with my wheelchair,” I continue. “You let me struggle just enough before stepping in to help. I’ve learned so much from you. I miss having you at home, but I can manage until we’re together again.”

Andre smiles warmly. “You’ve never been helpless, and your independent streak is as wide as the freeway in El Paso. You would’ve chewed me out if I didn’t respect your strength.”

I can’t help but smile. “I can’t help it.”

We fall into a comfortable silence before I break it. “Can’t you stay overnight? I’d trade my ex-husband’s soul for one of your omelets right now.”

Andre’s voice softens. “We’re lucky. Our home was always peaceful, filled with good memories. And speaking of memories, why did our miniature parrot like you best?”

I playfully pat his hand. “He was smart.”

Andre grins. “You do have a weakness for smartness.”

Taking a deep breath, I admit, “I’ve realized something since you left. I always wanted more from life, more than you could give. But now I see that I had all I needed. Life has taught me that.”

Andre nods, “And it took me a while to understand why you didn’t want to get married. We may not have made it legal, but we were married in our hearts.”

“I know,” I say softly.

Andre changes the subject, asking about Bobby, his brother, and my daughters. We share updates, and I’m grateful for Andre’s continued interest in my life.

As we sit, the swings sway gently, a silent testament to our enduring bond. Andre squeezes my hand. “How are you doing?”

“At first, I was numb,” I confess. “It’s hard to let go when you love someone.”

Andre smiles. “I’ve noticed. But it doesn’t mean I love you any less. We just have to be patient.”

“I’m okay now,” I assure him, pulling my coat tighter against the winter chill. “I need to head home.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

I glance up at a nearby tree and spot a vibrant red cardinal perched on a bare branch. It’s Andre’s way of reminding me of his love; he sends one every Christmas.

Andre passed away on Christmas Day almost four years ago, after battling cancer multiple times. Despite his pain, he never lost his sense of humor or his love for me. He took care of me until his last breath, the bravest man I’ve ever known.

For three years, I lived in darkness, suffocated by grief. But time, as they say, heals all wounds. A gentle wind eventually blew away the black cloud, leaving behind peaceful acceptance.

Today, I cherish our memories without pain. When I find myself reaching for something Andre placed on a high shelf, I mutter, “Damn it, Andre. I can’t reach that without you.” I can almost hear him laughing.

Life is good. The memories of our love sustain me, and I find joy in the little things we shared. Though Andre is no longer with me, he will always be a part of my life, forever in my heart.