I stood still as his final cradle of sleep passed through the crematorium gates, and in that quiet procession, my heart turned to dust. It loosened in my chest and scattered in the wind, aching to follow him—as I always did. Anywhere he went, I was willing to go.
There are no words strong enough to hold the pain I feel, nor the fear of learning a life without him. There is only the hollow echo of a world that must now grow used to the sound of one voice instead of two.
I love my husband—truly, wholly, deeply. Death has not undone that vow. Love does not stop at the edge of breath.
He did not complete me—I was whole before him, and I remain whole now. I did not need his presence every hour, nor was he the keeper of my darkest secrets. But he was the man who made the ordinary shine. He saw beauty in me on my weakest days. He made me feel chosen, important, and held.
He steadied me. He challenged me. He understood me—most of the time. And above all, he loved me as I am, and did his best with the heart I gave him so gladly.
He was not perfect. He could be stubborn, particular—human in all the ways we are. But when you give someone your heart, you learn to sift the wheat from the chaff. You let the small irritations slip through your fingers until what remains is the golden grain—the warmth, the laughter, the love.
That is what I long to hold now: to feel his warmth around me, protecting me, shielding me, loving me for as long as the wind blows.
So I will imagine our hearts as dust upon the wind, forever scattered and forever drifting together.
And though I had to say goodbye today, when I feel the wind gently brush my face, I will know that somehow, in its quiet touch, you are still here with me—Forever and always.
dbee x
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