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You’re still waiting for it to get easier.
You’ve been given a lot of platitudes: that time heals all wounds, that he’s always with you, that he died a hero. Like the way he died somehow makes him any less dead.
You much preferred what an old woman had told you, once, when you had shared that you were both widows. You had asked her if it ever stopped hurting.
She smiled sadly. “No, it doesn’t. But it…dulls, sometimes. It’s like an old wound that never heals quite right; sometimes you can go days, weeks, even years without feeling it. But it always comes back. Sometimes it’s a small ache, sometimes it’s just like the day you lost them. But it always comes back.”
“That doesn’t make me feel much better, honestly.”
“No, it doesn’t. But…one day, you’ll wake up, and realize it’s been a while since you broke down, and you can think of the happy times without feeling like your heart’s been torn from your chest. And maybe that doesn’t make it better, but it’s maybe a little easier, a little kinder, than what came before it.”
You’re still waiting for that realization.
You’ve tried not visiting him everyday, after a couple concerned friends told you they were worried you might be making things worse for yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. You know he’ll never be lonely with Pops nearby, but you don’t want him to think you’d abandoned him. You know he wouldn’t want you to wait for him, but he’d never really wanted you to love him, either, always convinced he was a burden, some horrible cross for you to bear. You’d spend the rest of your life sleeping next to his grave if you thought it’d bring you closer to him.
But you don’t feel him here, not really. You just feel the cold ground beneath your feet, the gentle heat of the sun against your cheeks. There isn’t anybody here with you, no matter how much you wish it were different.
So you talk to the air, pretending you can feel his warm hands holding yours, pretending you feel his spirit and warmth around you. “I still miss you.”
There’s no response.
“This morning I woke up, and for just a second, I forgot. I forgot what happened, and I reached out for you next to me.” Your throat tightens, but you force out the words anyway. “You weren’t there, obviously, and then I remembered, and I–”
You don’t know if the noise that escapes you is a laugh or a sob. “It’s so stupid, right? To forget? I know you’re gone, but some part of me is convinced that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll just…be there. And I’ll get to tell you about this awful nightmare I’ve been having, and you’ll tear up despite yourself because you’ve always been a lot softer than you like to let on. And you’ll tell me that it’s okay, because you’re here, and you would never leave me. And you’d be lying, and we’d both know it, but you’d say it anyway. For me.”
You lean your face down, pressing it into the dirt, inhaling the earthy scent, trying to ground yourself. “It's so strange. I feel so lucky to have known you, but I almost wish I hadn't. It's so cruel to have loved you and lost you.”
You think of his smile, so warm and bright. Once you’d thought looking at him was like staring at the sun. “It'd be easier if I didn't know how good life could be.”
You think about his hands on yours, his lips pressing gently against your skin. “It'd be easier if I didn't know how deeply I was capable of loving.”
You think of the way he had slid the ring on your finger, hands shaking. He had been so nervous, more frightened than you’d ever seen him. “I don't think I'll ever do it again.”
Your hands dig into the dirt, the small rocks and pebbles digging into your skin. “I hope you hold it against me if I see you sooner than you expected. I can’t do this without you. I never could.” The words pour out until they can’t anymore, the sobs finally overtaking you.
You want to sink into the ground, lay beside him, hold his hand one last time, no matter how cold. It’s just not fair . It isn’t right. This isn’t how things were supposed to be. You had a life you were supposed to live together, and he had so many things left to do, and now they’re just going to be left undone? How could that possibly be true?
Then something brushes against your hand.
Something soft and cold. A feeling other than pain, for the first time in months.
You manage to look up, and for a moment the big eyes staring at you seem almost familiar. The little cat, covered in dirt, is sniffing your hand, investigating you. He can’t be more than a year old, still in that awkward lanky state between kitten and cat. The sniffs continue for several seconds before he seemingly deems you worthy, and you feel the smallest hint of warmth as he licks your hand.
Before you realize it, you’ve moved your hand to scratch between his little ears, and his eyes close as you hear the sweet sound of his purrs. The corner of your lip twitches. What a sweet little thing.
“Hey, little guy,” you murmur, your throat still tight from your tears. “What are you doing here?”
He mewls in response, headbutting your hand, as though demanding you continue your affections. A small sound escapes your throat, sharp and foreign, and after a moment you realize it’s a laugh. How long has it been since you laughed?
He headbutts you again, letting out a noise of discontent. For a moment you’re reminded of a sleepy Ace, grabbing your hand and pathetically begging you to lay down with him, for you to run your hands through his hair, to give him anything you’re willing. You give in to the cat, reaching over to pick him up and hold him against your chest, to his delight. He curls in immediately, purring louder, and you can feel his warmth seep in through your shirt. He’s like a little furnace, instantly banishing the cold ache that had been plaguing you all morning.
“You’re friendly, huh?”
He lets out a little trill, snuggling further into you.
“You should probably be afraid of strangers, buddy.”
A gentle breeze brushes against your cheeks, carrying the faint smell of cedar and smoke, so familiar it makes your chest ache. You almost fall to your knees again, but the gentle rumble of the creature laying against you brings you back. You’d hate to hurt him if you fell.
Your eyes linger on the gravestone for a moment, before you nod and turn around. You want to get this baby home, maybe give him a bath and some food. Ace would understand.
You enter the little cabin you’ve been staying in, ready to fill the sink with warm water. Your new companion doesn’t seem terribly pleased at the sound of it, and is even less pleased by the feeling of it on his fur. You try to be as gentle and quick as you can, making sure to check him over for ticks or flea dirt as he lets out one long, uninterrupted cry.
He decides you’re the worst person alive after you dry him off.
He forgives you after half an hour.
You don’t have any cat food, or anything you think he could eat, so you’ll have to go to the market later, once he’s settled. You do find some stray blankets you throw over a chair to make a good hiding space for him, which he instantly throws himself into.
As you maneuver around, preparing to leave as your new friend demands sustenance, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You don’t look quite happy; there are bags under your eyes, and you look a little sickly. But you realize that at some point, something almost like a smile snuck its way onto your face.
You can’t help but recall a conversation you and Ace had, back when you had cried when he told you he was leaving for a long mission, wailing that you couldn’t stand life without him for that long.
“Aw, sweetheart, you don’t need me. You just need something to live for.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need a reason to wake up in the morning. A goal you’re working toward, something you want to achieve, or something you’re looking forward to. Something, anything, that makes you want to get up each day. Do you have that?”
You don’t remember what your answer was. You don’t remember who you used to be, before. But for the first time in recent memory, there’s a smile on your face, no matter how small, and the loud, demanding cries of a hungry cat make you think that perhaps you’ll have a reason to wake up tomorrow.
Maybe things don’t need to be good to be better. Maybe they can be just a little less bad. Maybe that can be enough, for now.