CW: Themes of grief and references to miscarriage

The breeze danced across my skin as I sat on the beach absently watching the waves. I felt it tickle my arms, my legs. It was warm, blowing the sun through to the next cloud. It blew tiny grains of sand along the beachfront rolling towards the ocean with no where in particular to go except to the sea. Balls of seaweed, washed ashore from the high tide, lazily rolled through the waves and winds, the lull of the ocean always a tranquilizer for a weary soul. A few seashells rose above the wet sand, ready to ride the waves back to the water. Seagulls floated through the sky on the winds, heads tilted downward, looking for the next morsel of food to steal.

Almost one year since my world went quiet; still; colorless; no breeze. Lifting my head towards the sky, I permit that breeze to engulf and encompass me, fill me enough to let go. I lifted my arms letting it flow through me. I stood. I looked up and that is when I knew; I knew it would take me with it. That is when the journey started.

The ride was quick, effortless and breezy; the colors along the way were breathtaking! Vivid, surreal and overpowering, the winds danced as I searched the clouds and the skies. I was starting to feel again. The breeze, it tingled. Memories came flooding back, one at a time, slowly at first then racing faster and faster. The breeze blew faster, too, then slowed, as the memories did. Gently coming one by one.

I saw our first date where you had asked me to dinner, but you lived half way around the world from me! You said you had a solution-if I picked you up at Miami airport, you could then take me to dinner. So I did! There was the memory at the restaurant where everyone told us how much in love we were, how they smiled at us. The happiness was such bliss. We were so blessed, so perfect, so happy. Then you, in the airport, ready to leave, tears streaming down my face. We didn’t know how we would make this work, continents apart, but we were determined.

You asked me to marry you. I was so happy, so much in love with you. I couldn’t wait to be your wife. We would make this work, somehow.

The breeze carried me farther. We were at the hospital for my dad. You had just flown half way around the world again to be there. For me, for him. He told us he wanted to be at our wedding. The doctors didn’t give him much time. So we brought the wedding to him, in the hospital; he called you his son, he told us he was happy, so happy. We sat by his bed waiting for him to wake up; but then we planned his funeral the following day.

I saw my first flight to Belgium and to you. You were there, waiting for me. With flowers and the biggest smile. We drove on a street and you asked if I knew which house was ours. I was overwhelmed. You held my hand and told me we were in this together, we’ve got this you said, we will make this work.

We had so many memories, traveling back and forth between Belgium and Florida. What a life we had! We were determined to make it work. And we did, somehow.

Next I saw us putting up wall paper in our first home in Florida. We had paint and paste in our hair and on us. We had no furniture and sat on a blanket eating Chinese food from white containers with the metal handle, with a bottle of wine and paper cups to drink from. Then how we planted the garden in the front of the house with multi colored flowers while the dog helped us dig holes. How we gazed up in the sky at the wild parrots hanging from the telephone lines and quaking at us and how we debated and educated ourselves about the best bird seed to buy for them, hoping they would come and visit, which they did.

I saw us renovating our Belgium home, the one your grandfather built over 100 years ago. How I hated to leave it to go back to work in the States. How I hated to leave you.

How much we effort we put forth to communicate effectively with a language and a cultural barrier! And I remembered how we laughed at the mistakes we both made in both languages, English and French. And we loved through it all and we made it work.

As I soared through, the next memory was again at the hospital. The baby didn’t make it. I didn’t think I would either. But you…you, held me tight, loved me and we made it through. Then you said you didn’t feel well, but as you got to the hospital room door, you collapsed. Running to you, I screamed for someone, anyone to come, to help. They rushed you to surgery and after some scary days, you started to heal, we were able to share a room. We were by each other’s side through sickness and in health, for better and for worse. And we made it through.

So often we were separated by continents, by work, by obligations we had before us. I saw all those memories! I saw how each experience shaped us, gave us reasons to try harder, love deeper, forgive easier. How quickly the years passed; we spent so much time over ten years on planes going back and forth; you can never replace time. Now the breeze was guiding me towards those beautiful memories and over the next years.

I witnessed us growing older, getting so beautifully comfortable with each other and even a bit soft and gray; and we were able to live together on one continent, in one home and build it just the way we dreamed. Those memories helped me laugh, helped me remember, help me love you all over again and made me miss you even more.

Seconds, months and years in our world had past and each memory was poignant, loving and heartfelt. Oh these memories, this love we shared, these stories were our lives. Together. They also made me realize how beautifully blessed we were.

You were in the garden, making our world beautiful. You came inside, chilled from the autumn air. Hot soup I gave you for lunch, tried to warm you from the inside out. Like you did after every lunch, you turned on the news and fell asleep in your chair. But I can’t reach you now, it is quiet here. The breeze turned into a wind, but I can’t hear, see or feel.

Where are you?

Are you here?

Or have you gone in the breeze?