?

Log in

No account? Create an account
 
 
17 December 2006 @ 01:57 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 157: Question 157  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 885


What is your worst quality as a significant other?


That I let her go without being ready? That I let her go in the first place, instead of taking her in my arms and begging her to stay with me always? How am I meant to answer that, how am I meant to reply to such a thing when the very one person I am meant to be talking about, no longer exists as a physical, living, breathing, being? No, here I do not digress, I am serious. How can I answer a question to which I no longer pertain? If I meddled in your life and took away what you loved, would you give the same answer, hmm? You might, but I am not to be the judge of that.

It is a question I asked myself particularly in the weeks following my wife’s death. Why didn’t I stop her and beg her to stay behind? Why didn’t I promise a picnic instead of a day at work without children, an experience I can only think of now as, well, pleasantly frustrating. Why didn’t I stop her, why didn’t I keep her from going to her untimely death in a flaming inferno? How could I not have an inkling of what was to come? Wouldn’t there have been something that could have warned us, that I could have seen, that could have allowed me to grasp her arm and hug her for one more time and then steer her back inside, children in tow?

Too many questions, obviously. It died down, eventually, the questions that is. The pain and loss took longer to be able to manage to the point that I didn’t go home and look through photo albums for hours on end. I am a realistic person, that I am, and I recovered as quickly as anyone else could under the circumstances, but, still, after her death, their death, when they died, it was hard. Hard to manage, hard to wrap my head around, and, insanely difficult to believe as being a realistic reality. What you must understand at this point is the fact that it is still something I struggle with, the loss. I have come forwards in leaps and bounds since it happened, but life is not the same, and with the continued and definite permanent absence of my wife and children, it never will be. Some people won’t get this, they won’t get why I can’t move on completely, but they probably haven’t lost anything like I have. I was lucky, I found my perfect match at a young age and we had, in our eyes, perfect children from this union. You can’t replace them, and therefore, I will miss them always. I am much better than I once was, but, it is still, hard.

This is not to say, however, that what I had with Marianne wasn’t good. It was more than good, it was excellent, exhilarating, glorious. In my wife I found someone I loved very dearly, but who, in my eyes, was not so much like me that is was eerie or disconcerting. She matched me where parts of me detracted, she fit into the places in my psyche that were left open, and she made me whole. I know, I talk about her often, and alternately, sometimes, rarely, but that is how much she meant to me. It doesn’t seem right to talk and not discuss someone who made me, in her company, another variation of the whole person I already was.

Love can and will be an incidental and arbitrary thing. For many it is there one day and gone the next, and for others it remains, doggedly, throughout the years, as time passes by and changes the world in its nimble fingers. Love is elation personified in something brilliantly shiny, and it doesn’t take someone adept at it to be able to perform it well.

My worst quality as a significant other then, may have been that I loved her too much, because even now, I find it hard to let her go completely, and, truly, it is something I will never be able to do, irrespective of where I move on to and who I might eventually settle down with, again, if ever. This is wrong, though, because I loved her as much as I could, even more than that, and our love, that felt right. So perhaps it is the fact that I sometimes forgot what she liked on her toast, but that is not right either, because such a thing amused her. To be entirely truthful then, in love, in what I had, there was no true worst quality for either of us, just a series of small insignificant actions that could sometimes be temporarily upsetting. As for my best quality? What can I say? I loved my wife with my whole heart, I loved my children with my whole heart, and in them all I found people who didn’t need an explanation, to myself or to them, of my directed fondness towards themselves. I never questioned why I loved them, and now that they are gone, I still don’t. Our love was simple, that’s all there was to it, I’m afraid. No extreme worst or best about it, just mere inconveniences and giggling glories. Sheer brilliance, that’s what.
 
 
Current Mood: thoughtfulthoughtful
Current Music: While My Guitar Gently Weeps - The Beatles