Mari's Marigolds

Birds sing, trees rustle, wind blows through woods and valleys alike. Though to me it all seems dull. The song sounds crass, the rustle sounds restless, the wind feels harsh against my skin. I am numb, impossible to feel, impossible to enjoy the offerings of spring without shedding tears of sadness and loss. Tears that well up in my eyes before falling in gushes down my cheeks unable to be restrained or have time to wipe them away before more follow after in torrents and streams. She’s gone.

My darling, my dear, my love, my life. She was my everything, my one and only. Time is a fickle mistress that takes and takes and never gives enough. There was never enough time, never enough minutes in a day, days in a year, seconds in a decade to have had with her. Never again to gaze upon her flawless skin, soft as a down pillow, flush as a blooming rose. Hair, gold as brightest sunlight. It shimmered and seemed to glow, making the sun ripe with envy. Eyes as blue as robin’s eggs mixed with the Mediterranean Sea. I could stare into those eyes forever and hoped that I would.

She had freckles. She hated her freckles. I’d laugh and kiss each one to show her how much I loved them and named each one. Her smile lit up the night sky like the brightest moon on a clear autumn evening. Her laugh would cause the hardest of heart to melt and make you smile in the very least. She had no enemies, no one hated her because she radiated love, compassion, and a caring spirit that made everyone around her at ease. My Mari was the greatest person I’ve ever met or will have ever known. She made me a better person.

I was no one, going nowhere and when we met my life changed because she believed in me, she pushed me, she loved me. It was her idea to start the business, knowing full well that I loved baking and sharing that joy with others through my creations. She sacrificed, she pushed, she organized everything while I focused on my creations and staff. She was my rock, my foundation, and now after only 5 years together, she’s gone. Like a whisper floating on the winds of change soon to be forgot by the rest of the world.

No children, no family outside my in-laws and other close friends. We always talked about having a child, but the timing never seemed right. We always said, “We have time, there’s no rush.” How foolish we were to trust in “Time”. If I sound bitter, I am! We trusted in “Father Time”, and he spat in our faces, not caring about our plans or happiness. He laughed and scoffed in our faces shaking his head at us in amusement and scorn.

Now spring enters, the first since her passing. Promises of newness, of a bright future and all I see is emptiness. I see no light at the end of this tunnel of sadness and darkened grief. I’ve sought assistance, the professional kind, for all the good it did me. “Time heals all wounds…It gets better…Embrace your grief…” that last one I like. I’ve taken that advice to heart and fully embraced my grief with open arms! I sit alone in the living room, on the couch, because it’s the one place in the house that hurts the least. We spent a lot of time in the kitchen and bedroom and the den, but the living room was for guests and family gatherings. Outside of that we didn’t use it much and therefore the memories are less and by extension less hurtful. Curtains drawn to let in the faintest of light.

I’ve taken away all the photos she had hanging and placed all over the house. Glimpses into our lives. The happy times, like our honeymoon to Cancun. The sandy beaches, and blue waters shown behind us as we kiss and gaze into each other’s eyes like we’d be together forever. I can’t stand those photos any longer. I’ve taken them all down and hidden them in the dark corner of our attic. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

I cannot stand to look outside when the sun is out. It all seems so happy, too alive for my broken heart. Friends have come by to give their condolences, but none know my grief, none understand my pain. None of my family members can fully understand what I am going through and therefore, though they try, have no effect in soothing my broken heart or calming my bouts of tearful interludes.

I wake each day, not because I want to, but because my body decides it is time to wake, keeping me from slumbering any longer but unable to push me to sit upright for more than a few minutes at a time or when nature calls. I think I eat; though I know I’ve lost weight since the funeral. Food, even my pastries have lost their taste. I find no joy or solace in food. I eat to keep from dying though even that isn’t much motivation which is why I can’t be 100% sure I’ve eaten, even today.

How do I go on? How do I live knowing she is no longer with me to share in my joys, my pains, my laughter, my tears, my happiness, my sadness? How can I move on with my life missing the best part of it? I walk around the house like a dog missing half its body, not really feeling all of myself in the movements. Like a phantom limb that you know is gone but you still feel it, you still sense it near you, part of you, yet not.

I try. I try to think of happier times. Of the times we used to laugh together, the times we made love together. But it hurts too much. It hurts too much to remember. To picture her in my mind as healthy and lovely as ever, with golden locks streaming down her face, framing her incandescent eyes that sparkled every time I made a joke, no matter how silly or dumb it may have been.

The nights give me comfort in my solitude. Hearing the crickets creak, the owls hoot, the wind rustling through the trees. Moonlit nights when the moon is full are the hardest. It seems any light given, whether day or night causes my mind to drift to thoughts of her, and it hurts too much. Like a dull, yet constant ache in my stomach that knows no relief. Pangs of grief and sadness that can never be quenched, never be sated, never know relief.

Never. The word is so final, so distinct in telling us it’s over, final, at its end, the period of life that will stop forever. Some would say this is not true, that never is derivative of a world without hope, a world not living in because the word “never” cannot be used when hope is present. Hope is life, hope is the human condition that keeps us going, keeps us striving for betterment, for a future that can be full of happiness, joy, and love for eternity.

But where is that hope? Where is that love? Where is my happiness? They died with her, they perished as the casket gently floated into the earth six feet deep, six feet long, and four feet wide. Her final resting place where I cannot join her, not yet. And though I long for the solace of death I blanch to think what she would say to me if she saw me now.

“Why are you still crying? Why are you still mourning? I’m dead! I’m gone, move on!” And as I stroll along the lane we walked and worn down over the years I can still hear her beside me. I’m no fool, I know it is not her, that she is gone and buried, but my memories betray me like a phantom floating beside me in the midnight sky, brightly lit by a cloudless, starlit heavens hidden to me by fully bloomed cherry trees. The bright pink flowers darkened by the lesser light, yet no less brilliant to behold. The chirps of crickets, and hoots of howls greet me along the way as I walk to “Our Spot.” The place we’d always go when times were tough, when life was beating us down and we could go to unwind.

I reach our tree, our place unshared by anyone else. As I sit, I’m greeted by her flower, my Marigold’s flower. Even in the moonlight its bright yellow petals glisten and shine as if she’s smiling up at me from these flowers. I don’t remember planting these flowers, yet here they are in droves surrounding our spot like a blanket of peace and comfort I have not felt in weeks.

Her flowers, my Marigold’s marigold flowers. I am loved, I am comforted, I am at peace.

The End.