32

32 – Maybe it was the super moon that did it, but during my walk with Leo yesterday night, I was consumed with memories of my husband. “Talk to me when the full moon is out,” he wrote in the letter he left for me to find after his death. “I’ll hear you.”

So I do, each month, I do. I walk to a spot that’s open to the moon’s light, the middle of the lawn, the crossing of the roads, the center of the backyard and I talk to him about the kids, about my heart, about missing him. I say that I’ll never forget him, his love, that none of us will. And I mean it.

But last night while I was talking to him, I realized it wasn’t just that I thought he could hear me, it was something about the way I could feel the moon’s glow on my face, on my cheeks, that made me feel especially close to him. It’s a powerful thing, that full moon, the golden light, the beams on my skin. Usually I’m okay with it all, but last night I wept.

Leo looked back at me when we resumed walking. What’s the matter ma? Why the tears? I stopped to pat his back, to tell him I love him, my best pal. Life is simpler for him, love, good food, comfortable bed, warmth, long walks, just being there to comfort me.

Truth is the widow thing is hard sometimes, even so many years later, even now. I’ve done my best to keep marching, to keep my heart open, to stay in the day, to love again. And still my heart aches.

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