I bought new shorts recently, a size 32. High school weight. I told the store associate that I dropped 4 pant sizes because I lost my wife. She mentioned something about a divorce, and I thought, “I wish.” It struck me suddenly, how horrible to say I "lost" her. I should never describe it as a loss. She isn't a set of keys. She isn't my favorite coat or hat when the first frost hits.
Michelle is living on in the memories we have made, so I
have not lost her.
She never fought, lost, or succumbed to cancer. She never gave
up. Those words make it sound like she didn’t try hard enough. Our 4–6-month
prognosis was a glorious 16-month life journey.
She didn’t recently pass. She isn’t a car on the road. She isn’t
a ticket to get in a theme park.
Remember this, she loved her family. She loved her
grandchildren, all of them. She loved Christmas, the 4th of July,
and her birthday. These were times when she could see her boys’ joke around
with each other and her grandchildren play. She loved life and lived.
She isn’t an angel looking down on us and she isn’t in a
better place. If she was, I would be there with her. There would be no
better place for her than right here with her family.
She lived, she died. Now we remember and love her.
Contradictory to my last post? Maybe, but maybe in line too.
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