Today is a struggle. While out for my morning run, my mind
drifted to us. I thought of how we had celebrated when the year 2014 was over.
It had been a year of personal and professional challenges. You had lost your
job of fifteen years with a company and people you loved. It took eight long,
stressful months before you found a new position which offered the opportunity
for a new career. We celebrated all that 2015 would bring, knowing that it
would be a year of promise and peace.
Working in Raleigh was tough. You, a family man to the core,
had to be away from home five to six nights every week. Yet, we tried to make
the most of every minute we had together. The best weeks were the ones when the
kids and I joined you in North Carolina. We explored the area we knew was to be
our new home. We tried different restaurants and boutiques. We laughed. We were
building the foundation for a new life in a new city. We were excited to join
you full time. We researched the different suburbs until we settled on Chapel
Hill. We had it all planned out. We were once again developing dreams of a new
future, one that would see the kids moving out and into lives of their own. We
thought of future marriages and grandchildren. We were excited to grow old
together. And everything was centered on “we”.
There is no “we” anymore. It hit me like a brick smashing
into my thoughts and fragmenting every hope I had for the future. How do I do
this without you? How can I grow old when it will no longer be “we”? I can
barely even get out of bed in the morning; so how do I walk into the future without the love of my life
standing beside me, affectionately holding my hand? We were one, and now half
of me has died. I left my sarcastic, jovial, gregarious half on the summit of
Mt. Yonah. I am truly feeling lost without you. How is it possible that on one fateful day life was drastically altered and went from "we" to "me'?
I love you, Woody. Death cannot defeat love, nor can it
steal the lifetime of memories you gave. I will, with God’s loving assistance,
walk through this valley until I am once again standing in the light. I know that eventually I will grow accustomed
to the loneliness of “me,” but even then I will always miss the fulfillment of “we.”
