With me, forever

I'll never forget that moment. I had no idea what was happening around me, I couldn't stop looking at the blood on my hands and it was noisy all around me. I couldn't think, I couldn't breath. And then I heard someone say 'I'm sorry but we couldn't save her'. 

It has been 40 years since I heard those words. I can still remember the smell of the blood and the sound of the doctor's words. I can still remember the pain I felt when I realized that I had lost her forever.

When you are as old as I am, there's not much you can do but remember. However, these aren't the only things I remember. 

I remember the first time I had seen her. How could I ever forget those warm brown eyes? I remember the first time I held her close and listened to her heart beat, fast and full of life. I remember making a promise, to myself and the universe, that I'd always protect her. A promise I failed to keep.

I have no memory of the life I led before her. It was as if I was born the moment I had first laid my eyes on her and with her, I grew. 

She was always so full of joy, so full of life. Her mother had passed away giving birth to her and yet she never let the grief take over her. She taught me a lot many things. She taught me compassion, she taught me how to find joy in the smallest of things. She taught me the importance of forgiveness. She taught me that for every dark night that passes, there is a bright morning waiting. She was the light of my life. She made me the person I am today.

Losing her hit me hard. I had lost track of time for the first few days, it was all a blur. The pain was unbearable. I blamed myself for not being there to protect her. I blamed the gods for taking her away from me. I blamed her for leaving me alone. And the pain, the pain was always there. My very existence had always revolved around her and now she was gone. I had lost my anchor and I was falling into a bottomless pit; a never ending fall where I always feared what hitting the floor would feel like but never did. I wanted it to end. I wanted the pain to go away, if only for a moment. 

And then I did something I had never done before. I got myself drunk.

The last thing I remembered about that day was me trying to go to the washroom because I was about to throw up. I woke up 18 hours later. A friend of mine had carried me to his home and changed me into a new set of clothes. He was a good lad, always there when I needed him the most.

I woke up and my friend had a hot cup of tea waiting for me. I had a sip of it, just lying there in the bed, looking out the window, listening to the birds sing. It took a few seconds for it to hit me.

I had just gone through 18 hours without any pain.

Without any memory of her.

What had I done?

The only things I had left of her were my memories of her. Memories that were unique to me; no one had seen her the way I did and no one had ever loved her the way I had. No one ever had and no one ever would. In my memories, was her very essence. And in my attempt to rid the pain, I had washed away the last remnants of her very existence.

I wanted the pain to go away because I thought I was being punished. But then, I understood. The pain wasn't a punishment, it was a testament. A testament to how much she mattered to me. A testament to how much I loved her. 

And on that day I made two decisions that changed my life forever. First, I'd never drink again. 

Second, I'd never let the pain go away.

And so I embraced the pain. And I kept her alive. In my memories, in my thoughts, in my dreams. In me, she lived again. I made it my mission to keep her alive, to always remember her for who she truly was, for no one had ever known her the way I had. I promised, to myself and to the universe, that I'd never let her slip into oblivion. A promise that I'd never break.

And in turn, she kept me going. Even after she was gone, she still managed to remain the light of my life.

And to this day, there hasn't been a moment when she hasn't been with me. I do not think of what could have been, I have had enough grief for a lifetime. Instead, I think of what was. And I never regret the moments I never had but cherish the ones that I did.

And yet, every night, in the brief moment right before I slip into a sleep, I feel my heart pull.

I miss her.

I miss her so much.

I miss my Elizabeth, my sweet little daughter, who stayed 18 forever.