And It All Changed.

Just like that, everything changed.  Not just a few things.  Everything.  Really, I'm not sure that I can grasp just how different things are now.  I'm not sure I even want to understand.  Do I ramble?  Probably.

So before I go any further, let's clear up some of the crazy rumors that have been circulating.  It seems that news. good or bad, travels quickly these days with the wide usage of social media. Facebook is a great way to communicate in this modern age, but it also creates an easy opportunity for insensitive people to poke about in other's misfortune.  There's nothing like using someone else's tragedy to draw attention to oneself, don't you think?  My dearest Bill died on Monday, January 20th, at the hospital in Salem.  That's when he took his last breath.  But really, he died in my arms on Saturday, January 18th, when he suffered a fatal heart arrhythmia known as ventricular fibrillation.  The wonderful paramedics and firemen from the local volunteer fire department worked so hard on Bill, trying to resuscitate him.  He was, after all, only 41, and he had a wife and four children to live for.  But I knew he was gone.  I didn't want to know it, but I did.  I didn't leave him alone in the hospital. I put my hand in his warm hand, the one I'd held so many times, and kept it there until the end.  That hand that shyly held my hand for the first time when I was 16.  The hand that held mine when he asked my to marry him at my apartment in Corvallis.  The hand that held mine and promised to love me forever at our wedding the following year.  The hand that held mine through each of our children's births (I may have squeezed it pretty hard a few times).  The hand that held mine when I was sad or angry or afraid.  The hand that was always there.  In the car.  In bed.  At church.  Walking.  The hand that was always there.  Letting go of that hand was the hardest thing I've ever done.  I kissed his silent face, beard and all, and walked away into the unknown.  That's what really happened.

Lots of women become widows.  Some are even younger than me.  I know all of this.  But I am different than most.  My story is different than most. We were different than most.  Bill was the only real boyfriend I had.  And I was the only real girlfriend that he had.  We were young, sure, but we always knew something was different.  We grew up together.  We should have grown old together.  Neither one of us was perfect but it didn't matter.  Where I lacked, he had abundance.  Where he needed more, I had more to give.  We were perfectly suited to each other.  The best compliment to the other.  We were in agreement on all the big issues.  We believed the same things.  We were on the same path, leading the same direction.  And then this happened.

You know, this is only the beginning of the story.  There's much more to share, and certainly as I make more sense of it I'll share.  I am comforted by the fact that Bill is more happy than I can imagine and one day I'll be with him again.  I hope he'll be proud of me, proud of what I've done and how I've raised our kids.  Until then, I believe that the 28 years we were together (20 of those married) were more amazing and full of love than many couples who have been married twice as long.  Bill was my greatest friend and I love him more than I could even begin to explain.  But you can be sure I just might try.