Laughter erupted in the room when I said that. We were all pretty wasted by that point. Merlot bottles and empty margarita glasses lined the coffee table, anesthetic concoctions to numb the ache in my heart, even if only for a little while.
Our night ended with all three of us passed out on the floor. It was a perfect way to spend my first night without Harley, but deep down, I knew it was a temporary fix.
We all got up around noon and enjoyed a light lunch together at my favorite local restaurant, Bistro on the Bay. When it was over, we hugged, promised to get together soon, and parted ways.
Sooner than I’d hoped, I was back at home, alone once again. It was thoughtful of Harley to have all our stuff moved in and set up, but at that moment, I had nothing to do but sit and wait out the loneliness. At least if I had something to decorate, clean, or unpack, I would have been able to keep my hands busy. Instead, I opted to focus on occupying my mind with writing.
The waves mocked me rather than brought me peace in that moment. I sat and wrote the only words that came to my mind, a letter to my love.
Dearest Harley,
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since we left each other’s arms, and yet it feels like an eternity. I thought I would be stronger than this, and be able to face being alone, but already the vast emptiness is consuming me. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to breathe without you next to me. I invited the girls over to help me get through the night. Funny, I used to look forward to hanging out with them every spare moment I had, but this time wasn’t the same. It was fun, but I found myself wishing you were here with me instead. I realized that you have become my new best friend. You are now a part of me that I can’t live without, and don’t want to live without. I will be counting every second until you come back to me, but I will try to stay strong for you. I love you, and we will always be unsevered.
Your wife,
Jewel
I couldn’t send it. First, I had no address to send it to. Second, I wanted to be strong for him. I didn’t want to make him feel guilty for choosing an admirable profession like serving his country. I folded the paper and slid it into an envelope. Then I placed it in my underwear drawer and turned out the light to face my first night alone in our bed, which seemed to extend for miles since he was no longer there to fill the space beside me.
Each night was a repeat of the one before. I stayed up as late as possible writing or watching television. Now that my friends had returned to their own lives, my characters were the only ones I could talk to. Once I reached the point of exhaustion, my feet shuffled up the stairs in hopes of a good night’s sleep; but my dreams had other plans. They were always the same:
Harley is walking up the front steps. He’s home! I rush out to meet him and just before we touch, a bomb is dropped in between us and he is blown away.
I jolted awake after the explosion. My breath was rapid and heavy and my sheets were soaked in sweat. I pushed my hair back and wiped my face. I grabbed his picture from the bedside table and kissed it, offering a silent prayer once again. Then I placed it back in position and attempted to finish the night.
For the next few hours, the waves mirrored my movements as they tumbled with lack of direction in the sea. I bolted upright again and looked around, awakened by what sounded like a thump at the door. I grabbed my flashlight and Beretta from the night stand drawer, and then took a careful stroll around the house to ensure all was in place. (Thankfully, Harley took me shooting a few times before we married to make sure I knew how to protect myself while he was away.) My heart pounded at such a fierce volume that I worried it would be a dead giveaway, no pun intended. I tiptoed through the house, checking every corner and closet, my hand trigger-ready. Nothing seemed amiss.
I expelled a heavy sigh of relief and returned the gun to its safe place. Then I walked back downstairs and drank some warm milk. My eyes continued to survey the house with each step I took.
Confident my home had been disturbed by nothing more than my own imagination, I returned to bed. My slumber remained as restless as the sea night after night, until that dreadful day came and confirmed that my nightmares had become my reality.
* * * * * * * * *
At first I didn’t pay much attention to the black car parked behind the men in uniform who stood before me. They were accompanied by a chaplain and what appeared to be a paramedic, though at first I wasn’t exactly sure why either of those individuals was necessary. It didn’t take long to find out.
“Hello, Mrs. Decker. We apologize for waking you, ma’am, but we need to speak with you for a moment. May we step inside?”
“Of course, but I’m fine here on the porch. We can talk here.”
The melancholic tone in his voice declared that something was wrong right away. My legs disappeared from under me and two of them lowered me to the rocking chair. The lead officer returned to an upright position, forced a stoic expression on his face, and continued with his military spiel.
“I have been asked to inform you that your husband, Second Lieutenant Harley Decker, was reported deceased in Kabul, Afghanistan at 1845 on May 22, 2014. A missile struck his plane during an ambush. Several lives were lost during this attack and regrettably his was on that list of names.” His voice cracked a little and he paused to regain his composure and complete his speech. “On behalf of the Secretary of Defense, we extend to you and your family our deepest sympathies for your great loss.”
His tone and posture softened as he added, “Ma’am, on a personal note, Harley was a good man and a good friend. He will be sorely missed.”
I was numb, unable to speak. My ears rang. A thousand thoughts flashed through my mind like a 9mm reel. Images of our wedding day … the beach in the Bahamas … him carrying me over the threshold … our last moments together, making love.
Then the images changed as I imagined what he must have gone through in his last moments, the ear-splitting sound of missiles and his yells for help because of the excruciating pain caused by the flames on his skin. It was too much for my brain to process. My breath came at a rapid pace, but I forced it to slow so I wouldn’t hyperventilate. I just wanted those men to go away, so I somehow commanded my mind to move on. There would be plenty of time to fall apart once they left. All I could hope for was that his death was quick and without unbearable pain. My eyes remained dry. I was too shocked to respond to what I’d just heard.
I wasn’t sure if I had even replied to the young man, but I suppose I did because at some point, he and the others returned to the car and drove off at a careful pace. He had offered to have a neighbor or family member come stay with me, but I informed him that there was no one to call, and I was fine. Of course, I lied. He also left a card with a number to call for more information about the incident. I didn’t want to know anything else; I couldn’t bring myself to even think about the other details. How much more did he suffer? I couldn’t bear to find out.
I did remember him saying that the military would be in touch to discuss the arrangements for Harley’s service. I also vaguely recalled him stating that there would be a remembrance ceremony.
It was as if my soul abandoned my body as I closed the door behind me. I fell to my knees and buried my face in my hands. My body rocked back and forth, as if music was playing in the background, but my sobs were the only sound that echoed throughout our empty house.
Mom came to stay with me for a few days. She, along with Gretchen and Chelsea, attended the service and tried to convince me to, but just as I’d done with my grandpa, I didn’t want to be a part of it. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t listen to the trumpet blaring out “Taps,’’ couldn’t take having an officer placing that flag on my lap. People would have repeatedly offered the ‘we’re so sorry for your loss’ speeches throughout the entire event. I know folks mean well and feel helpless in times like that, so they feel obligated to say these things; but none of it helps.
No amount of sympathy or condolence would bring him back
to me.
For the next few days, I played my denial role well, and even convinced Mom I was well enough for her to go back home. So I could grieve in solitude the way I preferred. Gretchen and Chelsea had to get back to their jobs, thankfully.
When she left, I went back to doing what I do best during tragic times. I shut the world out. I functioned on auto-pilot. I couldn’t eat or sleep, and barely moved throughout the day. Showers were not a concern to me.
One day, two men in uniform showed up on my front porch with a box in hand. I sat on the couch, hidden from view, until the knocking finally stopped and my feet carried my small frame over to peek out the front window. Once the driver was out of sight, I opened the door and found a small box on the porch, with the name Second Lieutenant Harvey Decker written on top. I concluded that it contained his personal belongings. There was that neatly folded American flag on top. I slid the box inside, and sat it in a corner to deal with later.
I wanted to kick it across the room, but decided that would be disrespectful. So many emotions were swirling around in my head, anger, sadness, betrayal. I knew he didn’t really betray me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been cheated out of the life I was promised.
* * * * * * * * *
I sigh as my mind returns to the present moment. I toss the pills in the trash, angry at the realization that I’m much too chicken to take them. My feet shuffle a slow path down the stairs.
When I reach the bottom, I see the sign above the door and vent my anger to the empty room.
“So you’re really gone? This is it? This is all I get? You sweep me off my feet in a whirlwind, and then leave me to live in this huge house all alone?”
My voice gets louder. “I don’t want this fairytale without you!” I walk over to the sign, tear it from the wall, and sling it toward the patio doors with as much strength as I can muster. It doesn’t break. Damn weatherproof glass.
‘Unsevered’ ..... coming soon!
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