Today is exactly four years since my wife died. This year feels different than previous years. I’m not immeasurably sad. I no longer think of myself as part of a couple. Even so, I think of death everyday. I often think about my wife and this time of the year brings back some of the worst memories of her struggles to live in her final year.
My wife brought out the best in me – from the day we met until the day she died.
This morning, as I was thinking about her again, I decided that I don’t think I’ll ever love someone again. I’m not sure I have it in me.
I’m fairly certain I don’t have the capacity to care for someone the way I cared for wife again. As I fell in love with her, I committed to her 100%. I didn’t have a clue what that commitment really meant. I just knew I wasn’t going to break it.
Now, I can’t imagine making that commitment to anyone else ever again.
I’m at peace with my decision. I’m not a 21 year old man, full of hopes and dreams and ambition to make his way in the world. I’m a 55 year old man who’s achieved some of those dreams and given up on others.
As for love, I think I’ve had enough and given enough. I’m not sure I have any more to give.
I love my dogs and will care for them until the end – but pets are not people. They don’t require the all-encompassing love and care my wife and I shared with each other.
I care about my distant family members, some old friends and a few new ones. But not in the way I cared for my wife.
And so, four years later, here I am.
Content – mostly. At peace – entirely.
Alone with my dogs.