Sometimes it can be too painful, after a loved one dies, to look at pictures of them. Not because we don’t want to see their faces and remember back, but because the very act of remembering back is a stark reminder that those times are gone, never to return.
That happens to me when I look at pictures of my beloved husband, Chuck. It tears into me that those lovely, loving days of being loved by him, of being his special someone…those days are gone, never to return.
And yes, I’m so beyond grateful that I had those years with him. But that has nothing to do with this grief at his death, or the daily missing-ness of him.
But, even so, I look at pictures of him. Often. Even as it causes daggers to my heart and tears choke me.
I look because I know he’s looking at me.
In most of the pictures I have of him, he’s smiling. And I know that he’s looking directly at the camera…at me…the woman he loved, as I snapped a picture to preserve that particular memory. So even as the tears come, I smile, because I know he’s looking directly at me, smiling at me with all the love in his heart showing in his eyes as they crinkle, and on his lips. Sexy smiles, devilish smiles, smiles of love and joy, his eyes glinting at me, sharing secrets that we carried between us. Smiles that conveyed promises of passion and enjoyment for both of us, later on when we’d be alone. Smiles of love. I half expect him to wink at me from those long ago moments…
I’m the recipient of that smile. I was the recipient of his smile for 24 years and what a gift it is to me to know that little ol’ me brought such a smile to his face.
I love you, D. Always.