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29 April 2009 @ 08:37 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 280: Question 280  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 742


What do you think?


My wife and I used to do silly things together, the kind of things they talk about in romantic comedies, the kind of things that young couples wish for, and old couples fail to notice because they’ve become used to the familiar spontaneity. We never found it familiar though. Sometimes she’d bring me home roses, or she’d arrive home from her office and I’d have made apple strudel for no reason. We were lively modern products of a revolutionary era, not only in politics, but in gender rights and equality. We enjoyed playing with the norms of the day, reversing what roles we knew society expected of us. She would open doors for me, I would dress in pink and she in charcoal black suits, and we would dine out while I talked of makeup and she made conversation about sport. She saw beauty where I saw beauty, and, Marianne and I, we ached for each other. If we went out, we’d constantly point to things, wanting the other to notice the beauty of life around us, wanting them to notice that we’d noticed, even if they had already seen the flower blooming or the dog running by.

When my children were born, we began to share those moments with them, we pointed out tiny nuances, and read them funny translations of fairy tales. Sometimes the only thing that would put either of the boys to sleep was Shakespeare, and we had fun creating for them a world rich in imagination, in literature, in science and knowledge to found their futures upon. As a family, we loved each other. Like anybody else, we all had our arguments, but they were soon forgiven and we always quickly moved on. As a unit, Marianne and I functioned excellently, and as parents, I don’t think we were entirely that bad, either. There was no pretence for us, no querulous undulating madness, only so much reality and so much functionary bliss.

When I work, I am always working on someone who, at some time, mattered to someone else. Even if they end up abusing and starving them to death, hormones generally dictate that at one time, a parent loves a child. Even if they shoot them in a fit of rage, it is usual that a girlfriend, at one point, loved her boyfriend, unless of course, contrary happenings occur and the love was never there in the first place, and had only been there for means driven by ulteriorly motivated means. Whoever I autopsy, was once loved, or had always been loved, by at least one person, and in many cases, their end is untimely and unfortunate, even if they may have done something wrong.

It was the same kind of situation with my wife and my sons. I loved them, and they had all been loved by at least one person throughout their lives. Our relationship was built on love; together we created it out of love, respect, all those things. It wasn’t fair, no, it wasn’t fair that they died, but what I still think of so often, is them, is what they were, what we had together, what they all gave me. There was nothing I could have done, really, except ask them to stay home, and I didn’t. They died while we still loved each other; they died for no reason at all, with love in their hearts and at their fingertips.

I was thinking, oh, what was I thinking? The nature of love, yes. The nature of love, what creates it, involves it in a person’s heart and soul, for those moments that it lasts, it is everlasting. Sometimes, as in divorce, it ends, and people move on. Sometimes it lasts, and is then snatched away in murder, in death, in suicide, and somehow, the person who is left behind must move on still, but while still having that love all the same. I think of my wife and children frequently, I still mourn over them, but the difference between how I once grieved and mourned, compared to today? I still have love, I still have grief, and, and, I still mourn, but I move on. Each day that passes I move on, with this constant and brilliant speed, because while I may still feel sadness, the nature of the love I had was part endurance, and even with my loved ones passed away, dead and buried, their love endures still.
 
 
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