Morning Reflections
It was an overcast sky early that Friday morning. I woke up to the stillness of an empty house. For a moment, I had a feeling of sheer utter painful aloneness. I pushed that sense away. I lay still with my eyes closed, making a mental list of the things I had to do that day.
I opened my eyes and stretched. I was not alone. Picasso was curled up in a ball on the much-used and tired armchair, sleeping contentedly. Ebony was sprawled out on Peter’s side of the bed. I smiled to myself as I leaned over to switch on the radio on the bedside table. Soothing classical music drifted out of the old wooden box. The radio is perhaps as old as I am. I don’t know.
I got up and headed for the shower. I used to sing at the top of my voice as I showered, but no more; not since Peter died. There! I said it. Peter died! Peter did not pass away; Peter is not gone; Peter did not cease to live; Peter DIED! Admit it to yourself. Let him rest in peace, Stella. Do not burden his soul with your grief.
I tried singing in the shower, to reassure him that I am okay; I am strong. My voice came out cracked and ugly from lack of use. I tried again and again. I finally gave up. I showered, dried myself up, and went back to the bedroom.
The bedroom was filled with the sound of the classical music that I love so much and my two contented dogs who want to be near me. I am not alone in the house. Picasso and Ebony are here. The memory of my beloved husband is within me. My classical music envelopes us. My son will be here after work. I forced a smile on my face and got on with my day.
That night there was an old musical on television. I sang along with it. Soon my voice soared. It floated through the open window and high up into the summer night skies, up and up and up. “See Peter, I told you I am okay! This one is for you, darling. Our song, ‘My Funny Valentine.’ Remember Peter? Remember?”