The one thing about death is that it is final. There’s no going back, as much as I wish it were possible. No amount of wishing has yet brought Alan back. I keep trying, though. But I think I’m stuck with this unhappy reality, as much as I don’t like it.
But what does that mean? It means a lot of things. Most painfully, the things we thought we would do in the future aren’t going to happen. We aren’t going to travel and retire together, and we aren’t going to grow old together. That trip to the beach next summer isn’t going to happen. Every hiking trip brings memories of our times camping and exploring North Georgia. I have yet to let go of these things and I keep wishing with every fiber of my being that Alan could come back to do them with me.
There’s also the mundane: Where did he put the car battery charger and how do I use it? How do I open the safe? Where are the pictures that I remember he had but now can’t find? The repository of Alan’s knowledge is now gone. I have to go on and figure everything out by myself.
And of course, there are the decisions to be made. What would he have wanted me to do? There are so many decisions to be made, and I can’t ask him what he wanted. Am I doing it right? I don’t know. I wish I did.