I think about my husband coming home, to an empty house, to an empty bed. I think about my bedside table, filled with junk, that I’ve been meaning for a while to sort through. I think about the bathroom cabinet with all my products, hardly used. I think about my closet, filled with appropriate clothes made to never go out of style. I think of the photo albums, of me, in my childhood, of my family home. I think of all the shoes and bags, taking up space, now abandoned. I think of all the love, that now will start to whither. I think of all the memories, of my wedding dress and the bands on my fingers. I think of the family lunches, the Christmases and birthday and summers and spring. I think of the camping trips, the weekends away, the days at the beach, the Sunday’s spent at home, doing nothing.
I think of girls nights and coffee dates. Of messages and phone calls. I think of advice I could have given, and the shoulders I would have cried on. I think of you and us and them.
I think of first words, grade one, home work and the last dance, of 21sts and first dates and broken hearts. I think of bruised knees that I’ll never get to kiss and smiles, of haircuts and clothing choices. I think of slamming doors and angry fights, I think of tears and making up. I think of dinners at my moms and cups of tea and glasses of wine. I think of loving looks from the dogs and snuggles with the cats. I think of you, my love, moving on. Slowly starting to forget the pain and find happiness again. I think of all these things.
If I had died that day instead. Oh what a life I would have missed.