by Te’Mera Bell
There are times when I still set the table for two. Perhaps it’s because of habit, or maybe it’s because of false hope. The mornings come with a heaviness that settles within me. It’s dark, and bleak. There is no sunshine, there is no true rest, there just is.
Grief is there, holding on to the vows we used to whisper to each other. Lovingly, embracing in the evenings. “In this life, and the next,” you would tell me, kissing my temple before falling asleep. There are times when I still hear you say it to me, a soft whisper breaking the chill of night. A small warmth to push me forward one more day.
Another day rises.
Sometimes, I’m unable to leave our bed. The pillow still smells like you; I use your soap to sleep on it. That way it will continue to have your scent. A ghost inhabits these walls, the ghost of who we once were.
Another day sleeps.
The shadows haunt me at night. They look like you. When the wind blows and the trees shake, it sometimes reminds me of you. It creates a glimpse of hope that you may walk through the door just one more time. You never do. It isn’t fair.
In the morning, the birds’ relentless songs fill the air, a sick reminder of how life moves forward without thought, without mercy. Life doesn’t care that you’re gone. I feel left behind. My time moves slower when I think of you.
Your laughter, your joy, the sound of your breathing, and your footsteps up the stairs. The memories always make me feel warm and loved. The memory of your hand in mine, your soft touch on my back.
You weren’t always there.
There was a time before you.
I try to remember it, sometimes. What a colorless life it was. A life of survival and breakdowns, of joy and pain. A life that was always missing you in it, that held broken promises and vices. A life that passed by quickly—too quickly.
The life I chose had unraveled, leaving me alone. It became a life of silence. One that lost its art. I was mourning who I once was. There was growth in that pain. There was also joy. There was strange happiness in the lost art, as I was creating new pieces of who I was.
Then there was you.
I met you while grieving the loss of a life that I used to live. I was grieving a betrayal that captured my soul. Those days were rising with the sun with the birds singing happily, and the mornings were so exciting.
You taught me how unconditional love could be. You taught me how to stand taller; how to find what I lost within myself. You showed me your soul—openly. You gave me the opportunity to hurt you; I could never hurt you.
You brought in possibility with that grief. It wasn’t the same type of grief as now, this one that follows like a shadow.
This shadow that refuses to move past me.
You didn’t mind it then, supporting me. Loving me. Holding me. Cherishing me. Whispers at night, a promise to never leave. A promise to be there. A promise you’d keep.
For years and years, you were steady and present. Full of laughter and love. You were so hopeful. You were my hope, love, and joy. You never faltered, nor did you ever quit. You promised me forever—my forever.
It was unfair to assume that “forever” would be in this life. It was unfair to assume that tragedy could never touch you. That it wouldn’t be you, because it couldn’t be you. It was unfair that life decided it would be you. That life decided in an instant that you would be gone.
My phone has been silenced and all the texts ignored. Well-wishers and do-gooders hoping to help me mourn. They’ve knocked on the door and left letters in the mail.
Please reach out, we worry about you.
Unless they can bring you back, there is nothing they can do. I look at the table; it’s still set for two. Your plate and mine. Your coffee cup stained from the tea you drank. The shoes under the chair and your blanket across the couch . . . all like you could still be here.
In my dreams, you call my name. You still whisper promises to me. When I wake, I swear I hear your laughter in the soft summer winds. You’re no longer with me, just a memory of what was. What had been. A thought of what could have been.
There were plans hidden away for trips you meant for us to take and gifts that had been stowed away, saved for a later date. There were love letters you had written, soft and full of life. A future we both wanted, a quiet life, a lot of travel, even more food, and growing old.
I remember before you.
Then I realize there is an after you.
After.
I never imagined there would be an after you.
There shouldn’t be an after you.