A Love Story

I met my husband the day I walked into his restaurant. I had dinner with a friend, drank too many margaritas, and asked him for a job. He hired me the next day.

He loved to tell me that he fell in love with me that very night. It took me a while longer. When we used to tell people the story of how we met – our times were never the same. He would say that we were dating for six months before the date I said we were.

I just thought he was a great guy. We would go out after work, night after night and talk and laugh. We did a lot of laughing in those days and drinking of course. At some point in every night out he would tell me it was inevitable that we would be together. I told him it was never going to happen. I had a boyfriend at one point, he had a girlfriend – but it never mattered to him – either way. It is inevitable he would just say over and over.

He tried to get me to his apartment a million different ways. He would tell me he was having a party and I would ask who else was coming and he would just laugh. There was never a party. He got a new door put up and for months would ask me over for his ‘door party.’ He was relentless. But I was afraid. Afraid of course of the big commitment thing, afraid he was older than me, married before and had a child. He would just stay the course and tell me – it is inevitable. Someday we will be together.

He bought me a Tiffany bracelet, took me to dinner and to concerts – he did everything right and still I just said no. I loved every minute of my time together and just wanted to be with him all the time. He was the first person I called in the morning and the last person I spoke to each night. But I was afraid of marriage and baggage. I came from such a terrible divorced family I just had to make sure it was right before I could commit. My husband saved me from myself many times. If I was feeling lost or stuck in my life he always had good advice or just a shoulder to cry on. He was always there for me – no matter what.

He was my best friend for a year before I realized he was right. We were sharing a cab home one night – we always made two stops - and I was sad about my latest idiot boyfriend. I remember thinking why can’t I find a good guy? Where are they? And then I looked over at him and realized he had been sitting next to me for the longest time. The next day I called him up and asked him to go steady. He made me come into the restaurant to ask in person. I did. Three months later he proposed. He was not taking any more chances with me!

I sit here tonight with a whole in my heart, longing for his presence. I remember how much fun we had and how wonderful a man he was to me. He made me laugh like no one could. He only wanted to make me happy. It was his sole purpose in life for as long as I can remember. Despite it all he loved me with every ounce of his being and I just wish he knew how much I felt the same. I wish I could have saved him like he saved me and I feel so much pain about this.

I went hysterical today doing laundry. Not for the obvious reasons, but there weren’t enough clothes to do today. I miss how many times in a day he would change his clothes. If he looked at a shirt too long I would end up washing it. I miss doing even the smallest things for him. I just miss him so much.

A friend told me that experts say it would take four to six weeks before I really felt the angst of my situation. Well here I am, right smack at the start of five weeks and just seeing my last name in print causes me anxiety.

There are moments in a day when I think I really am fine – that I am over the worst. Then I am hit over the head with some bricks and it feels like the first day all over again. This grieving thing sucks. It feels like it will never end, never get better and never ever go away.

I write and write and cry and cry and nothing seems to make the pit in my stomach any smaller. The gaping wound in my heart seems larger than ever.

I am not sad. I am not angry. I just really really miss you.