|The last time I saw my wife she was on the porch reading a book. Her bare toes scrapped across the wooden floor. The sound of the rocking chair wrapped around the enclosed silence of my eyes. I couldn’t help but stare at her. She had beautiful tan skin, yellow haired curls.
I kissed her forehead. “See you in a few days,” I said.
“Love you,” she said.” I knew she didn’t want me to go. Something was wrong, but she wouldn’t tell me. In retrospect, I should have pressed the issue. Instead, I smiled. “Me, too,” I said.
Now she is only in my dreams. Yesterday I ran my hand across her stone house. I spelled her name with my fingers. I lay in the cool of her soft mound. I told her that I’ll sleep with her for eternity. I heard her voice speak to me through the roses.
I’ll never forget the day I returned. Mom said that her car flew off the bridge. Cause of death was drowning.
I screamed into her arms. She gently pulled me away. “There’s something else,” she said.
I wiped my eyes, sniffled. “What?” I asked.
“No, I said. Are they calling it a suicide, then? How long did she have?”
“Yes, she said. She put her arms around me, held me like only a mother can.
“Six months. Son, I’m so sorry. I loved her like my own daughter.”