It’s been six months since you died.
I heard the deep baritone rumble of a truck stopping at the neighbour’s house last night. It sounded as if it parked in our driveway. It sounded like your truck. But I knew it wasn’t yours. Your truck sits in its’ spot beside my car; with grass growing long around the tires and dust, pollen and bird poop collecting on its’ blue paint.
I heard the door slam shut. I laid in our bed and remembered what it would be like if it was you coming home.
I would hear one stomp on the front step as you reached to unlock the door. You’d mumble something about me locking the door even though you’re on your way home. You’d try to quietly drop your fish bag by the door as your jacket rustled loudly threatening to wake the kids.
I’d hear you walk the two steps to our bedroom door and the knob turning slowly. My heart would jump and I’d feel a flutter knowing that you were home. Your huge sillouette would darken the doorway and block out the warm yellow light coming from the range hood in the kitchen.
“Snuggles?”, you’d whisper loudly into the darkness. I’d giggle and teasingly whisper back, “Yes, Baby Pumpkin?”…or say ‘SHHHHH’ depending on the kid’s level of sleep or my mood.
I’d be able to smell you from the doorway. As you got closer to the bed, I could make out the pleasant (yes, pleasant to a fisherman’s wife) smell of fresh fish, the tang of rusty metal on your hands and the smell of smoke in your beard. I’d feel the callouses on your hardworking hands catch softly on my hair as you lowered yourself to the pillow to kiss me. The softness of your warm lower lip would be such a contrast to the rough brush of your thick beard.
As you turned to walk out, I’d disentangle myself from Briar’s little body, or Olivia’s for that matter if she happened to be in our bed that night. I’d meet you in the kitchen. I’d nestle my head into your solid chest while you wrapped your arms around my waist. We’d lean against the corner of the counter and talk about your drive home, the kid’s activities, the fishing trip, a bill needing to be paid, your new electrical tape covered injury.
Soon, I’d go back to bed, but I’d hear you downstairs laughing as you watched tv. Making yourself something to eat in the kitchen. Horking while having a shower.
I’d fall asleep knowing that you were home. And we were safe. Life would be normal. Maybe even mundane and boring. I would take it for granted. I would do anything to live that life again....to be have the luxury of being able to take our life together for granted.
I miss you so very, very much.
I love you, the whole pie, Jeff…..always and always.
The Silencing of a Poet
1 day ago