John Lennon once said, "The memories we have between us stretch longer than the road ahead of us". When my husband died, all those memories that we could have shared vanished. It's a rather strange place to be in, my friends. One day you are sharing marvelous memories: your children's birthdays, graduations, milestones; even the fight the two of you had over what color to paint the kitchen. In a literal and metaphorical heartbeat, it's gone. Yes, your children and family are still here, but the single most important person with whom your memories are intrinsically meshed has disappeared from your physical life, and the heart takes a toll.
It's difficult for me to explain this to people who still have their spouses here on earth with them, whether they be married or divorced. I will never be able to sit on the couch and laugh or cry with my husband about something that happened that day that triggered a beloved memory from our past. It's one of the most lonely and heartbreaking things about my husband's death. I can still share with my children, but a huge piece is missing.
So we live with fragments of memories. New ones are created each and every moment, every day. These are the new treasures of my heart, and for that I am grateful.