Dear Maria

An epistolary of my love

Dear Maria,

My sweet Maria.

At some point in time, a hole was carved into my soul, and a deep void of darkness overcame me. I am unsure of the exact moment, but I have found that this emptiness has overwhelmed me. I wonder if it happened the dreadful day you collapsed; the suffocating helplessness, the infuriating grip of worry. Was it the day we received your diagnosis? Hand in hand, yet completely alone in the sea of confusion, paralyzed by the fearful knowledge that the worst was indeed yet to come.

I remember I was in denial. How sweet it was, my wilful oblivion. Each day was such a generous gift, a bow-tied present at the crack of dawn — to wake each day with your warm breath on my cheek. Still, it was torment: to be forced to stand firm and watch you slowly fade away; a constant reminder of my pathetic failure to take your pain, your selfless attempts to shield me from your suffering, and the futility of our silent prayers.

Was it the day I sat and watched the light in your eyes die? Silently weeping as your frail hands grew cold, as your chest stilled and your words ceased. Or was it just mere days ago, as I stood under the brutal downpour of rain and watched as you were lowered into the earth? Was it the moment I realized I could no longer speak to you; the moment I realized you were no longer mine to have? You’re no longer mine to kiss, no longer mine to love, mine to comfort, to worship. For from dust you were taken and to dust you shall return.

I watched in envy as the dark earth embraced you. I watched bitterly as the heavens wept, and her tears washed mine away. I waited patiently yet found no comfort in your rest, no solace in your peace. Maybe it was the moment I returned to the house; what was once a home, the mournful space that now houses the memories of your life, of your essence, of you. The memories that now eat at me.

Now my mind is swimming. My eyes are drowning. My heart beats on but I am unable to breathe. My dreams are fleeting. My days are draining …an everlasting torment. I wonder who really died: you, who lives on in my mind and stirs a warmth in the hearts of many, or me — merely a breathing corpse.

Still, what a blessing it was to have you. What a gift it was to have loved you and to love you even still. You gave me a life so beautiful, and left me a bitter starving soul, cursed to live with this insatiable longing.

So, this is grief…

Your love haunts me, sweet Maria.

Till I find you again,
Your beloved