Like A Waterfall

 

I’ve held off all day. It’s the day before our 45^th anniversary, the one many of our friends have already or will soon celebrate. But we never will. Not together. Only me.

The tears fall freely where I write in the guest room in Montana. We got back a bit ago from a long drive along the Skulkaho River, ending up face to face with a magnificent surprise waterfall. Robin and Jerry have been here before and always bring their houseguests up this narrow backroad, but they never reveal what’s waiting for them at the end of the bumpy, gravel drive. They let the waterfall speak for itself.

Most of the road was paved, but it’s a good thing I’m not afraid of heights. The view I had out the side window of the primo front passenger seat was probably a hundred-foot drop to the ravine next to us. I know it had to be that far down because a) you know how much I exaggerate, and b) the tall Engelmann Spruce and Grand Firs grew up from the ground floor and topped out only a few feet above my window. True story. Probably. We’d followed the river along the side of the road until it meandered out of view, downward, perhaps into another county, and then, ta dah!

“Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed as the road suddenly widened and a massive waterfall covered the landscape before me. No one told me where we were going (like I would even know) and, since the fall colors are in full-on riot mode here right now, I assumed we were just headed back into the woods to fill up cloud space with fresh photos. This was stunning.  And I didn’t even have to get sweaty and dirty hiking back in the trees to find it - you know how much I hate to sweat. There it stood, waiting for me, while we rock and rolled up a pothole covered gravel road to the top of the mountain.

You’d have loved it, Baby. I know that because I started crying again, the same way I did yesterday while I stood in the middle of a bunch of 3,000 year old cedars and I missed you so bad I couldn’t catch my breath. We always loved exploring together, didn't we? I leaned against the crisscross shapes on the bark and whispered into that thin veil that keeps you hidden from me, “Why aren’t you here?’ It’s a question I’ve asked a million times since that night we told you it was all right to leave. To go home with Jesus. I know where you are. I just wish you were here instead.

I’ll probably ask the same question again tomorrow on the anniversary of our first day as husband and wife. How my flowers shook as I stood at your side in full view of God and everybody that night and whispered, “I do.”  You looked so handsome in your new suit, and the arm you wrapped around me while my uncle took pictures after the ceremony held me tight with love and pride. We were so young, our eyes so full of love and dreams, the inevitability of “til death do us part” locked away in the naivete of all the years and years it would take us to get there and face reality in its hardened face. I've done my best imitation of Scarlett O’Hara for all these decades with her famous, “I’ll think about it tomorrow,” and then I pushed tomorrow away and refused to return its calls.

It tracked us down anyway. Now I have to think about it. Life without you beside me. The first anniversary I’ll spend without a card from you. Or a kiss. Or flowers that you hid in the garage overnight so you could set them on the table where I'd find them in the morning. I can’t even look at our wedding photos right now. How could those forty-five years have passed so quickly? Remember the widow we visited on our honeymoon because my dad said we should pop in and say hello since we were in the area? I remember the way she missed her husband and I felt so sorry for her. Now I am her.

Robin is taking me shopping in these beautiful mountains tomorrow, honey. It’ll be fun. A good distraction. I’m just trying to get through the day, another one of the dozens of firsts that the first year holds for people like me.

I miss you. A million times a day, I miss you, but especially today as I anticipate tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know and let my tears speak like that waterfall. I love you and I will until the day we can finally be reunited again, when I will love you even more.

Happy Anniversary, my love. You’re still my everything.