When I last posted here, my world was still in one piece. It was a Friday. There was a blizzard. I worked in the office that week instead of getting anything done in the studio. I went out the day before and bought an Expedition so Mr. Virgo and I could travel in comfort and enjoy life instead of waiting till retirement. He texted me that morning to tell me he loved me and to see what I was up to. At about 2 in the afternoon, he called to see what was for supper. As he always did, he called me at 5:30-6:00 to tell me he was just leaving the parking garage. We talked till he got halfway home then I scooted into the kitchen and got the food going. I sat back down in the living room and called him back, just to hear his voice. I told him to let me know when he got to the bridge and I would get back in the kitchen to put the finishing touches on his favorite dish. Then, back to my perch in the living room to watch for his headlights. When I saw him turn into the driveway, I jumped up, flung open the door, waited till he was out of the car so he could hear me, and yelled “BABY!”. He turned to me and smiled and said, “Hey, honey!” I told him, “Get yer butt in here!” and he said, “I’m a tryin’.” He came in the door, tired, but grinning from ear to ear and said, “Mmmmm, that smells great, babe!” and I pretended to blush and said “Come on, let’s get your coat off so I can give you a big hug!” Every night, same thing. Never, EVER got tired of that man’s homecoming. It was an EVENT!

I don’t know what I did on Saturday and Sunday. I’m sure I worked in the studio, but didn’t post on here. Mondays and Tuesdays were sacred…they were for us. He was really tired on Monday, and I had to get something ready to send to the printer, so he rested on the couch for a while. It was a nice, lazy day with a nice lazy dinner that evening. Tuesday dawned, beautiful and sunny. I fixed him a nice breakfast and asked him if he’d like to go for a ride in the new car and go see travel trailers. He lit right up and said that sounded like a perfect day. I did up the dishes and we set off for the next big town, about an hour away. We commented how nice this new car was for holding hands while you drive…a major prerequisite in purchasing a car in our house. We talked about where we would like to take the trailer on our first trip in May. We laughed and told stories, and caught up with what was going on in our lives. We got to the RV dealer and someone said to just take our time and browse…they were all open. It was a warm morning and we walked toward our future, hand in hand.

In the fourth trailer, I noticed he was grimacing and asked him what was wrong. It was his shoulder, he said. It really hurt. I asked him to sit down on the sofa for a minute. Concerned, I asked him if he thought I needed to take him to the doctor, and much to my amazement, he said he thought I’d better. This is a man who fought in Vietnam. If he tells you he needs to see a doctor, something is terribly wrong. Now, I’ve worked in medicine for over forty years. I know what questions to ask and what to look for. I asked if he hurt anywhere else and he said yes and pointed to his neck. I told him to wait right there and ran to get help and have them call 911. I wasn’t gone 60 seconds and when I got back, things were really bad. I had the guys that were with me put him down on the floor of the trailer in case I had to do CPR. I elevated his feet and yelled for an aspirin. One miraculously appeared! I made him chew it. I kept yelling to him to hold on, the paramedics were coming, just please stay with me. I finally whispered in his ear. “I love you, handsome man” and he said, “I love you, too.” And that is the last thing we said to each other. Because he was only sixty-two, they worked on him for about four hours, but there was nothing they could do for him. The cardiologist said the type of heart attack he had is called a “widow maker”.

That it was.

Today marks four weeks since my sweetheart left me. Our 6th Wedding Anniversary was the day before yesterday. I can breathe now, not great, but I can. I can look at his picture and talk about him without bursting into tears…sometimes. I feel him with me. I talk to him and I imagine what he would say. And, since I asked Jesus into my life 8 years ago, I know I will never be alone. But oh, how I miss him! His sweet smile, his clear blue eyes, that shock of silver hair, his rapier wit, his hugs, his quiet, steady breathing as he lay beside me at night. I feel as though half of me is paralyzed. It’s there, but I just can’t feel it, I can’t move it. This grief is like walking through tall grass. You start to move forward, carefully at first, and then take bigger strides, and BAM! You step on the rake that was hiding in the grass and it comes up and smacks you right between the eyes!

I will get through this. I have had heartbreak before and survived. What makes this worse is the finality. The waves of grief that come out of nowhere. The planned life that is just….gone. The uncertainty. Sometimes, there just are no words.