I’ve hardly even thought about him since I’ve been here except for in passing and in worrying about him finding me. My heart is not any less whole after leaving him.
And if I’m being honest, I’ve always yearned for that type of all-consuming love, even if it ends in inevitable heartbreak. The type of love that leaves you breathless, that turns your world upside down and changes you entirely. A love that’s visceral in every sense of the word.
I’m just not entirely sure that sort of love exists in the real world. But looking at Ambrose right now makes me wonder…
“What does it mean to you?” I finally ask. The emotion in his eyes indicates that it meanssomethingto him.
He’s silent for a moment before he sighs and answers, “This poem encompasses the feeling of losing the person you love in such a beautiful, melancholy way. The fear and despair of losing them, and the bittersweetness of knowing they’ll always be in your heart long after they’re gone.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes, and it’s the first time I think I’ve seen this sort of raw vulnerability from him. It’s then that it hits me how much he’s probably lost. When you can live forever, there’s no end to the number of people you can love and lose.
“Who was she?” I ask. “The woman you think about when you read this?”
“She was my wife. I loved her so much,” he breathes. “But time takes its toll on everyone regardless of how much I wish I could stop it.”
His wife. He was married. Why hadn’t I ever considered that to be a possibility?
“How long ago did you lose her?”
“It’s been fifty years now, and I still think of her every single day.”
I watch his expression but stay silent, giving him the space to say more without pressure.
“We were in our twenties when we got married,” he continues, “and we were so damn happy. There was no warning on the night I died—well, almost died. I had been out chopping wood for the fireplace. One second I was fine, and the next, my heart was giving out. When I was given the choice to pass on or stay in this life for as long as I wanted to, I couldn’t give up the chance to live out the rest of my days with her. She was a beacon of light in this world.”
“It sounds like she had a full life with you, at least. That had to have been worth it.”
“It was,” he agrees. “She didn’t pass until she was in her nineties, and we lived a long and beautiful life together. Losing her was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. She’s buried out by the old church in the woods.”
My heart splinters with each additional word he speaks. He’s so vulnerable and emotionally raw that I worry I’ll break the moment if I speak. I nod, though, wanting him to know I’m listening, even if I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone you love so whole-heartedly. It’s no wonder he keeps this house considering the memories it probably holds.
Then, it hits me. “She was the one in the picture by your bed.”
He nods. “Yes.”
I had wrongly assumed it was his grandma or mother when I first saw it, but it all makes sense now.
“Sometimes I wish I could follow her,” he admits, his voice cracking. He doesn’t have to clarify what he means, because I know exactly how it feels to long for death. But there couldn’t be more of a difference between us. He wants to die in hopes of finding his wife on the other side after having lived a long, full life with her. I had wanted to die because I had lost all hope and was desperate for any sort of escape.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
“Because I have no clue if there is an afterlife, and if there is, I don’t think I’d be going to the same one as her.”
“So you choose to stay here because you’re scared of what lies beyond.”
“Yes. The same as any other person, really. Nobody wants to die because they’re terrified of what the afterlifemight hold, and they’re even more afraid that it might simply be nothing. None of us fear death so much as we fear oblivion.”
I nod in agreement. “That makes sense,” is all I say. It’s true, though. When I had attempted suicide, I forced myself not to think about whatever might come next. It was a rash decision brought on by total hopelessness, and, surprisingly, one I don’t think I’ll make again. Whether it’s the promise of freedom or the tiniest bit of comfort I have here, I no longer need to fight the call of the void. My mind is often still cloaked in that familiar darkness I’ve come to know, but it’s lightened considerably in the recent weeks.
Ambrose speaks again, his voice still heavy with emotion. “I don’t want to die, because if it turns out that there’s nothingness after this life, then her memory will be lost forever. Right now, I’m the only one keeping it alive.”
I never would have guessed there would be so much pain inside him, but tonight, he’s exposing a different side of himself. Someone who’s vulnerable, someone who’s more human than creature. Someone who has loved deeply.
It breaks my heart in a million different ways. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I reach forward and lay a hand on his knee.
“I’d be willing to bet anything that she’d be happy to know how much you love her. But I also think she wouldn’t want you to agonize over any decisions about the continuation of your life because of her.”
He nods and looks into my eyes for the first time since the conversation started. “Thank you. That means more to me than you know.” His eyes are shining, and I’m not sure if it’s from tears or the firelight reflecting in his eyes.
