America celebrates her 239th birthday, the
signing of the document that would declare our independence. Fireworks mix with
thunder. The sky is illuminated by pinwheels of light and flashes of lightning.
I should be celebrating as all American citizens appear to be doing within a 10
mile radius. Instead, I find myself on my hands and knees on my shower floor,
my tears intermingled with streams of warm water. Memories of
that day haunt my thoughts. I see Woody sliding down the mountain. I remember
thinking—crying out to God, really—“No! This cannot be happening! Please, Lord,
make it stop! Turn back time! Let’s start over!” Why? Why did it have to end
this way? I just knew Woody would live. I just knew God would perform a
miracle and he would survive. I promised our children he would not die. I took
Hunter’s face in my hands, looked him in the eyes, and promised. I broke my
promise. I had never done so before that day. But I just knew God would hear my
prayers and do what only He could do. We would recall the glory of God and how
he had saved my husband from certain death. We would acclaim the power of
prayer when uttered by the faithful. I was confident that Woody would live
through this horrible tragedy. Of all the scenarios that played through my head
during the hours the EMTs worked to stabilize him, death was never one of them.
But God said, “No.” It was the most heartrending no I have
ever received. My chest aches with inconceivable pain. I cannot escape the
memories. The look in Woody’s eyes as he slid down that granite slab and over
the edge will be with me for the rest of my life. I want to hold him in my arms
and feel his warmth radiating through his shirt. I saved one of Woody’s shirts
from the dirty laundry. His scent was overwhelming that first night. I held it
close to my face, feeling his presence through his scent. Tonight after leaving
the shower, I went to my closet where it hangs and held it to my face trying so
hard to smell even a trace of the smell I remember as Woody’s. It is almost
gone. What will I do when his scent is no longer there? Will I forget? I’m
afraid I will. The thought terrifies me. How can I forget the aroma of the man
who lay next to me for over 20 years?
I want to celebrate. God has given me much to be thankful
for, but the loss of the man whom I loved most in the world is overshadowing
any celebratory feelings I might have. Someday, I will smile when fireworks
explode over my head with bursts of yellow and red. But today they remind me of
the man I prayed for and lost. Happy birthday, America. Maybe next year the
sobs will not eclipse the explosives.
