The Way You Died

“BLUNT FORCE HEAD AND CHEST TRAUMA”

I read the words on the death certificate and tears sting my eyes; I catch my breath. My chest tightens up and the room starts to spin. “So, this is how they will say you died,” I whisper to an empty room.

I can still see how you died. I can still see the look in your caramel-brown eyes as you slid past me and over the edge of the granite cliff. I can still see the dark red blood pouring from the back of your head onto the stone side of the mountain and onto my shoes. I can still see your eyes swollen shut as you bled from your nose and your mouth. I know how you died. It continues to haunt me every night.

 Yet, I must remember how you lived. You lived with so much gusto. You crammed as much living as you possibly could into every moment. Sometimes it annoyed me. “Can’t you just sit still and read a book?” A ridiculous request, I know; but sometimes it was exhausting just watching you live. However, you were an excellent salesman. You sold me on life and love.  We laughed and cried through every quest, always searching for the next adventure. You taught me to be brave. You taught me how to live fully as if every day were my last. But most importantly, you taught me to love—to love God and to love you.

I will miss you as long as I live; yet, I live in hope that one day we will be reunited. God holds me tightly in His ever loving arms as He ever so gently carries me through this nightmare. The ache in my heart is unbearable. My whole being yearns for you. Still, I am thankful—thankful for the years we shared, thankful for the father and husband you were, and thankful for God’s guidance in our marriage.

Yes, you died violently and early. Yet you lived passionately and abundantly. That is what I will commit to memory. That is how I will remember you.