Rain Drops & Tears

This morning was a quiet, rainy and foggy day. I had just dropped my six year old off at school and was pushing the stroller home with my four year old. I turned down our block and there you were. At the other end of the street walking towards us – you were there. I watched as your black hair got drenched in the rain. I watched as your black jacket, black pants and boots walked slowly our way. It took my breath away. I walked very slowly until I was just stuck in the middle of the sidewalk as you came closer and closer to us. I started to shake. I wasn’t sure if you were a ghost, a hallucination or if you were just really back.

What I wanted to do was run straight down the block and throw myself into your arms. I couldn’t wait to hug and kiss you again. I was in awe of your sight. A million thoughts went coursing through my brain and a huge sigh of relief flew through me. Finally you were back and I couldn’t wait to talk to you again. To tell you how much I loved you, how much you were needed and missed. I steadied myself as you were soon approaching. I was just starring at you until the face that was looking down away from the rain finally looked up into mine.

You can’t imagine the disappointment. The devastation I felt when it turned out not to be you. The man was also Chinese, not the white Jewish guy I was expecting. The man walked around me without a word. He barely even acknowledged my presence. He was just a random stranger who for the briefest of moments was my lost love and he will never know what he did to me. First I was relieved that I didn’t actually go jumping into his arms. Then I was just a mess. I was so angry with myself that I could let my imagination run wild. I just cried uncontrollable sobs upset with myself and world yet again. Rainy days are actually perfect for me – you can’t tell the difference between rain drops and tears.

I was visibly shaken for the rest of the walk home – cursing at my idiocy and only relieved that my four year old, who was tongue out catching rain drops missed the entire episode. I walked faster than fast and got us home. I went upstairs, washed the mascara off my face and headed out the door again. My daughter was off to school and then I drove to New Jersey to work. Just another day in this so called life of mine.

Moments like these are beyond comprehension. Beyond painful. They are almost self inflicted torture. I thought about this encounter the entire drive to work. How could I really have thought it was him? I was truly convinced for a brief instant that it was my dead husband – alive and well. I can’t explain it – not even to myself. But there was this moment – this definitive moment where I stood in the rain and my husband was walking toward me. For an instant I was filled with bliss. I can actually remember my heart warming up and my smile twitching. It makes the emptiness in my soul feel the cold that much more and my smile is just trapped in a far away place.

My six year old asked me tonight why did daddy have to die. Why couldn’t someone else die instead? I looked at him with my sorrow filled eyes and said I was sorry. Sometimes I don’t know what else to say. It feels like empty words coming out of my mouth. He doesn’t need advice – doesn’t need to hear anything. I just think he needs to talk and get it out. I find the less I say the more he talks to me. I can’t tell him anymore that daddy is dead and we are alive and have to life our life and move forward. Even a six year old knows bullshit when he hears it. So I listen to him talk and see him struggle to push away the tears. I tell him the truth – daddy would be so proud of you if he were alive.

The worst part of. The very absolute worst part is that someday I am going to have to tell them that you didn’t have to die. You chose death. You did this to yourself. You took yourself away. Just thinking about having to say these words is enough to send me in a downward spiral of tears and nausea. The tears that come are hot and angry. Because not only am I left to clean up this awful mess – I have to explain it. I have to try and explain the unexplainable to your children. I only hope that when the day comes I understand more and know more. But the reality is that I don’t know anymore than I did 21 weeks ago and I don’t think I ever will.

I pray that when the awful day comes that I have to say the words out loud the children and I are in a better place. A stronger state of mind – stronger mentally spiritually – anything but what we are now. For better or for worse I have time on my side. A four and six year old will hopefully not ask the questions I fear most to answer any time soon. Especially not when I have days where I see you walking down the street like you never died. I am not ready to face the harsh reality that will someday be my destiny. Maybe I never will.

Thankfully for now they are blissfully ignorant and easily distracted. I wish I could say the same about me. I only hope when they do someday ask we are outside on a rainy day.