I will remember…
A man came in my office to take care of some business, but he left a story with me that I’m sure will stay in my heart for a long time.
A few months ago, he lost his wife of twenty-seven years.
He was only forty-five years old. That seemed so young to be married for such a long time.
But he went on to tell me that she was fourteen and he was eighteen when they married! Wow!
For all intents and purposes, they had raised each other.
And after a lengthy battle, she succumbed to cancer just a few months ago.
He stood there for the longest time talking about her.
Regina.
The love of his life.
He loved her.
He loved her with a love so deep, I felt like I could see it. Love you could see in action, word, and deed.
Love must look like the look he had on his face when he said her name.
He told me how hard it was to open the closet and see her clothes, shoes, and purses. Things that brought her joy at the time, but that he doesn’t know what to do with.
And then of course, everything reminds him of her.
He talked about trying to sit down and write thank-you notes for the flowers and kind gestures, but the box of notes has her picture on it.
When he opens it up, a flood of memories hit him. So he closes it.
He didn’t cry during the entire time he was talking to me, but you could see the tears were there.
He wanted to cry.
Wanted to.
But what he said sticks with me.
“I could feel sorry for myself, but I don’t. I figure I had something most people search for, but never find.
I remind myself of that when I feel kind of down.
We had our arguments like other married people do, but we were always OK when the sun went down.”
And even in death, his wife did not feel sorry for herself.
He told me:
“She would have bad days and snap. Then as quick as that, it was over. She would look at me and say, ‘I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.’
But I would tell her if you want to lay down on the floor and cry, I’ll lay there next to you and cry with you. If anyone’s earned the right to feel sorry for themselves, you have.”
He stayed a while longer and never did shed a tear.
I wanted to crawl under my desk and bawl. His words made my heart ache for him.
But he would not want me to feel sorry for him, and I will remember that this week and in the weeks to some.
I will remember not to feel sorry for myself.
Because she didn’t and never does he.
And what is going on in my own life that even compares?
