I’m Still in Love Three Years Later

On this day, three years ago, I experienced a profound loss when my beloved wife, Jan, passed away. She had been receiving hospice care at home for a little over three weeks since April 10. On the morning of May 3, I woke up and went downstairs for breakfast, as I had done countless times before. However, this day would be different.

I walked over to Jan’s hospital bed and leaned in to kiss her forehead, a ritual we had performed every day for almost fifty years. As our lips met, I whispered, “I love you.” To my surprise and delight, despite her weakened state, Jan responded with a clear and unwavering voice, “I love you too!” It was a tender moment, a final kiss shared with the love of my life.

Now, that kiss remains etched in my memory, a cherished moment that reminds me of our love. Although the pain of her loss will never fade, I have learned to move forward and make progress through even the most difficult moments. Memories are more important than dates or times, and my love for Jan will always endure.

Recently, I finished reading “Jaded: A Novel” by Ela Lee, which tells the story of a sexual assault survivor named Jade. Reflecting on her journey, Jade shares how she would tell her younger self how to survive. Despite facing numerous obstacles over the last three years, I, too, have found moments of strength and resilience like Jade. I have had epiphanies that allowed me to see the beauty in the world and live life to the fullest.

I’d tell her recovery would be like the temple: built between an enormous boulder and a cliff’s edge. The construction would be perilous, with the laying of every stone risking a drop into an abyss. Her trauma would be the boulder, an unforgiving hard ball within her. It can never be removed. It would never yield, erode, or soften. It would take time, and respect for the delicate ecosystem, but she would slowly build something intricate around this boulder. The architecture she assembled encased the boulder, protected it from rolling over the cliff’s edge. Every time she needed more building materials, she would have to descend the mountain and carry each brick up. It would break her back, turn her hands and feet hard with callouses, crush her spirit. But when the final tile slotted into place, the painstaking years on the brutal mountainside would be worthwhile in the way the far-reaching views of the landscape from the temple made her catch her breath. She would finally take in the sky and the sea, the colorful boats docked at the harbor below, the verdant rice paddies, and the tiny villages dotted in between the valleys. The boulder and the cliff won’t be all she sees anymore.

My Apolytus Moment