copyright © Andi Dawson
The flowers that we planted months ago have started to wither and die; I never expected that you would die before them. I didn’t think about what life would be like without you, because I never imagined that you would be taken from me; old age was something that we were both looking forward to spending together. Now, I can’t even shed a tear; my body and soul are numb.
Two weeks ago as we argued, I didn’t know that your life was going to be snatched away. We said such hurtful things to each other, terrible things that neither of us meant; but we didn’t know what was going to happen. I know that when you drove off you only intended to go round the block a few times to calm down. I’m sure that as the driver got into his car he had no intention of hitting your car head on. But it happened and you're gone.
When I saw you lying there dead in the hospital I wanted to reach out and grab you, somehow bring you back to life. The nurse said I wasn’t allowed to touch you in case I caught any virus. I could have slapped her, but instead I just waited until she left the room and then I took you in my arms; I held you tightly and didn’t plan on ever letting go. It took 3 nurses to pull you from me and as they wheeled you away I collapsed to the ground, looking at your blood on my shirt.
Now I sit here in our garden, looking at a photo of you, I don’t know what to do with myself. The sun is shining, but I feel no warmth. The funeral was ok I suppose; apart from coping with the desire to throw myself on your coffin. I even stepped forward when they were lowering you into the ground, I got as close to the edge as I dared. Then I realised it would just make a terrible scene; I imagined you calling me melodramatic, but I really wanted to do it, be close to you one last time.
My mom thinks it will be best if I remove photos of you from around the house, she even said I should take your clothes to the charity shop. She said that when my dad left us she did that and it made her feel better. Only, my dad didn’t die, he broke her heart by running off with his secretary. She doesn’t seem to understand that I want your things around me; I need them around me. I can’t sleep without spraying your aftershave on your pillow, or wearing one of your shirts. I look at your photos every second of every day, willing them to come to life and bring you back to me.
I don’t know exactly what happened that day. All the police really told me was that you had been driving down the main road and a car had pulled out of a side street and hit you head on. I have spent hours trying to figure out exactly how it could have happened; how a car pulling out of a side street could have hit yours with so much force that it killed you. They said that you weren’t wearing your seatbelt; it’s possible I suppose, I often told you about setting off without it on. But the other driver must have been going some speed to cause such a terrible accident. He is being charged with causing death by dangerous driving apparently, but I won’t be at the court case.
Thinking about all these things isn’t healthy, I know that, but I can’t help it. What if it was fate in some weird, twisted way? I believe in God and I believe that all things happen for a reason; but right now, I can’t figure out what reason could explain your death. Am I supposed to learn some sort of lesson from it, do something that I wouldn’t have done if you were still alive? I just don’t know.
I do know that I hurt more than I ever thought possible. This house was the start of our great plan. Six months ago you carried me over the threshold and promised to keep me happy forever. You can’t do that now; I’m a widow and my life must go on while you lie in your coffin. It’s terrible, but I’m angry with you for leaving me and although I wish more than anything to see you again, I know that if I could the first thing I would do would be hit you and shout at you for being selfish. You could have stayed and argued with me that day, instead of going off in your car to calm down. You could have put your seatbelt on and paid attention to the road. You could have fought for your life. But, you did none of these things.
Instead, you left me alone and scared. I won’t even be able to keep the garden alive without you, so how am I supposed to look after myself and our baby. I didn’t even get a chance to tell you that I’m pregnant. Four long years we tried for a baby and I swear, if you hadn’t been killed fate would never have allowed me to conceive. A week after you died I was at the doctors begging for something to help me sleep and I mentioned that I was being sick every day. I couldn’t believe the doctor when she suggested a pregnancy test, but I went along with it to prove her wrong. I wish I had proven her wrong; but she was right. The positive test result came exactly a week after I saw you taken to the mortuary. I suddenly realised, fate is cruel; God is a sick man, with bad ideas.
I prayed every night before you died; you used to tease me so much for it, it was so funny to you. To me it was everything; I truly believed that God could hear me. I didn’t ask for much, I prayed that my family and friends would be safe; I never asked for riches or things that I didn’t deserve. I never even asked for a baby. Did I waste all those prayers, all that time? Either God wasn’t listening, or if he was, he just ignored me. Maybe he heard every single word, but chose to spite me for not converting you to Christianity.
At your funeral the priest said that God would welcome you into his arms, but what if he hasn’t? What if he has left you sitting outside the Pearly Gates, all because you made fun of religion? Would he let you in if I prayed for it? What if you weren’t meant for heaven at all? How can I tell our baby that you died and that I wasn’t sure where you had gone? Why am I bothering asking all these questions? You cannot answer me.
From now on it’s just me and our baby; my mom will try her best to help, but really there is nothing she can do. I don’t have anyone who will take care of me like you did; our baby will never know its wonderful father and I will live with my broken heart forever. The flowers in our garden will wither and die, and in time, so will I.
