A young widowed father opening up about living with loss
It’s funny to think that there was a time when my wife and I resisted each other enough to tell our friends that we’d met at an inconvenient time in our lives. We were both young, having fun and blind to what was happening. We were falling in love. The bravado was just part of the flirtation.
Tonight I hung out with some of my best friends. Friends who were there when we happened. People who were around when I still thought my wife’s name was Des’ree. The mates who I was having so much fun with at the time that I might well have decided that it was too soon to get serious with a girl. Those whose company I might have chosen over hers all for the sake of attempting to extend my youth and having what, at the time, I deemed ‘fun’.
As we toasted an engagement, a birth and a girlfriend who couldn’t make it, I realised I was the only one there who was technically alone. And I thought about how there was no way in the world I’d have been able to sit through it all a few months ago.
But I guess I came round to the idea that it was where I should be. With friends who knew her. Who loved her. Who know me. Who love me. Who can talk. Who can be quiet. Who can bring it up. Who can leave it alone. Who can speak a thousand words with a look, a nod or a discreet touch. Magnetic friends whose company I might not always think I’m ready for but whose positive charge can repel the negativity without even having to try.