Autumn Remembrance
Peter, it was chilly this morning when I woke up. The window was open, and I could smell autumn in the air. I wrapped myself snugly in the blanket and curled up into a tight ball. I tried to go back to sleep, but sleep eluded me. Even though you left this world more than seven years ago, this morning I stretched my hand to your side of the bed, expecting to feel your warm sleeping body next to me. You were not there! I slowly opened my eyes, and reality set in! You will never be here again. Bitter tears stung my eyes. “Where are you Peter? Where are you? Where in this vast universe are you? Will we ever be reunited again in another world?”
The sun had not yet risen. It is always dark when I wake up in these past years since you passed away. Gone are the days when I luxuriated in bed without a care in the world. Gone are the days when I slathered myself with the decadent rose-scented hand cream, which I applied to my skin on those days that I played sick. Well, I would be sick, but not that sick. Classical music played softly on the radio. I was probably reading Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, the perfect romantic story for a cold winter day in bed. You would come back from the office and rush into the bedroom. The bedroom was suffused with the heady aroma of that special rose perfume that I reserved especially for luxuriating in bed. You entered carrying the bed tray and some hot chicken soup. I sat up in bed. You arranged the tray on my lap and placed a single long-stemmed red rose, always a red rose, on the side of the tray. You bent down and gave me a tender kiss on the forehead and said, “Not too bad!”
“Now have this soup while it’s hot. That’s a good girl.” You would hand me a soup spoon and a napkin and sit next to me on the bed and watch me eat. And I? I felt like I was the most precious, the most beloved of women. There was no other woman as loved as I was loved by you. I smile softly as I remember how you loved and cherished me, how very special you made me feel.
Then suddenly and without any warning Death snatched you away! I grew numb with disbelief! How could this be? Why did God allow this to happen? We still had so many more years of loving each other! No! No! Too soon! We were not done yet! When I finally allowed myself to accept the inevitable, I wandered fondly in my memory. You left me with so many beautiful memories, with so much love. You enveloped me with your adoration. Every step I took was cushioned in clouds of love. And I? I worshipped you right back. A long time ago, you had convinced me that it was fated that we would die together when we reached our eighties. According to you, you would crash the red sports car of your dream into a tree, and we would die instantly. I believed you! I was satisfied in dying that way. It was perfect. We would not be separated. We would leave this life together. Imagine my shock when you went at the age of seventy-two and left me here alone.
“He abandoned me,” I sobbed. “He abandoned me! He promised we would go together.” I would cry in a voice filled with disbelief over and over again.
“He did not abandon you, Stella, he died,” my brother said, trying to reason with me.
I was devastated. You were my anchor, you were my reason for being, my reason for living. You were my soulmate. Your love sustained me. When you passed away, I sat waiting patiently for you to come back and take me with you. But you did not come. One day, a few months after you were gone, just before the High Holidays, a repulsive excuse for a man stood before me at the synagogue and looked at me as if he were deciding whether to make a move or not. Every once in a while, he smacked his lips in anticipation. I tried to ignore him, but he persisted and would not move. I was outraged! I finally lost my temper.
“Get out of my sight, you good-for-nothing. My husband is not yet cold in his grave! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You’re not even worth the nail of his little finger! Get out! Get out!” I felt like sobbing! I felt alone and abandoned. I rushed out heaving with emotion. How dared he? Did he think he would even come close to comparing with you?
After you died, Peter, I had no reason to be “vain” about my looks, as you used to tell me. I used to reply that I was not “vain” but “well-groomed,” just as you were. You would chuckle in amusement. “You are vain,” you repeated. Perhaps I was. I cannot say. I still have my weekly manicures, and I still blow-dry my hair. However, I no longer feel the need to tint it. Now that you were gone, there was no reason to do so. There were two people who liked my hair dyed, you and my mother. I wanted to please you both. Now that you both are gone, there is no reason to do so.
I don’t know how to live without you. I don’t really know how to feel joy without you. I feel your loss greatly. I can never fit into the role of the Merry Widow, for I love you too much. I will never stop loving you. I will love you always, until I draw the last breath in my body, and if we are lucky, we will meet again in another life and continue loving each other.
You were convinced that God had decided our fates and destinies. Once you told me that you knew our fates were bound together because you were born in Brooklyn and I was born in Baghdad just a few months apart. You argued, “Why else would He have arranged for us to meet?” From the moment we met, we both understood that we belonged with one another. It felt as if we were two pieces of a huge jigsaw puzzle that fit together perfectly. It took us a long time to find each other, but once we did, we knew that our souls belonged to each other.
The High Holy Days are almost upon us. As I sat in the synagogue today, I glanced out at the myrtle tree outside the window. Each year at this time, it blossoms. It proudly displays its delicate pink blooms. I love that tree because King David wrote beautifully of it in the Book of Psalms. Because of that tree, we planted one by the porch at home. Each year, you commented on its beauty. You patted the soil at its root tenderly, encouraging it to grow. Today I pictured you sitting in the men’s section and gazing at the one at the synagogue. It comforts me to gaze at it. I imagine you sitting in the men’s section, praying, and that makes me feel closer to you.
I am sitting on the porch at home. The breeze is gently sweeping back and forth. The birds are joyously singing, and I am quietly thinking of you. Even though we are not together physically, I feel our beings are still bound to each other. I can feel your presence near me. I can always feel you. One day, God willing, we will be reunited once more. At that time, you will tuck my arm into yours, and we will resume our lives together once more. A lady can dream, can’t she?