Jordy and I were both poets, but he was magnificent. He was phenomenal and had published so many works. He had finally decided to write a piece about me because I told him that was what I wanted for our fifth anniversary, a book of poems about love, about me, and about us.The first time I brought it up, he said he didn’t do love poems, that he did literature, and my argument was that there was no literature without love.
We hardly ever agreed on anything. Sometimes I wonder how we managed to make it work. The only thing we had in common was our love for poetry, writing and literature, and that was enough for both of us.
We were not the usual couple, we were quirky, and that’s what made us special, I loved his strange and he loved my weird.
Life I thought was good, until one day my world came crashing down. I was in the living room, when I received a call from Jordy’s mum. The call lasted for two minutes and 48seconds, I checked the call log to always remember the amount of time it took for my life to change forever.
I held on to the period of time like a life line, knowing the conversation was short made me feel worse and better at the same time. It was a like double-edged sword to me, consoling me that there was nothing I could have done and yet mocking me that my life literally ended in a twinkle of an eye.
I mourned my husband for a long time, people said I mourned him for too long, and then it made me ask if there was something as mourning for too long, and even if there was, I really did not care. I was convinced that the inventor was some heartless shrink in the middle of nowhere.
All my friends told me not to think too much, that I should get busy, and Jordy wouldn’t want me to be sad, But that was impossible, he was everywhere in the house. I saw him in everything I did.
He had been gone for 6 months, six whole months and everyday felt like he left yesterday. I had moved out of the house we shared a few days after his death. I moved out because I thought I would heal faster, if I did not have constant reminders of him, of us and the life we had.
I tried to move on too fast and forget too easily. This clearly, was poor judgement on my part and an error in my thought process. I would later come to realize that I could not run from his memories, from what we had built. I spent my time trying to forget when all I needed was to remember him, my sweet sweet Jordy.
It took me six months and 2 days to realize I had to go back, to go back to our home and search for the love of my life and find him even though I had lost him.
I was going through his stuff, and I saw some of his books, and this brought tears to my eyes because I was flooded with memories I had repressed, memories I had buried and run away from. I felt ashamed for being a coward.
One of the memories that hit me like a ton of bricks was his advice and what he always said to me whenever I complained about my job.
“honey writing is your passion, not teaching”.
I taught English language to high school students and he’ll say in his role play Big brother voice, “you too can be a full time poet” and I tell him there isn’t such a thing as two full time poets being married to one another, that someone has to live in the real world to keep the other in check, when I said this he would just smile and say what he always said about being a poet.
A poet is someone who is not afraid to share with the world from their fount of knowledge. A poet writes even when he cannot, he thinks even when critics says his thoughts are not enough, and above all he writes first for himself, second for his fans and thirdly for the critics.
My reply to this never changed, which was, I am only but a she and not a he. what of the female poets out there, don’t you have any wisdom for us.
His reply was always the same too, ”I love your weird” and I’d tell him I loved his strange too, and then we would share a kiss. This never got old or boring, it was our private joke.
I realize then that I am crying profusely and then I am filled with anger at the world, why did it have to take my best friend away from me.
Jordy died of a heart attack at 35. When the autopsy report came, I felt it was a conspiracy because I knew Jordy very well.
We were trying to have a baby so he had quit smoking for a year and we were the healthiest couple on the planet. So how did it happen, how come we never saw it coming. We had no warning signs. He was a healthy man or so I thought.
His mother blamed me for his death, that I pushed him to much for us to have a baby and it troubled him that he couldn’t get me pregnant.
She said Jordy blamed himself for our inability to conceive because he had a varicocelectomy in the past and he was the reason we did not have children.
All these was new information to me, and what hurt was I couldn’t ask him why? Why he hid all of it from me. I thought I knew him but part of my healing process was to live with that for the rest of my life.
Sudden Death of a loved one sucked, but when it invited it’s cousins distrust and paranoia unannounced it destroyed you.
I had no closure, Nothing in the world had prepared me for this. I had a lost of unasked and unanswered questions for Jordy and he was gone. Gone!!!
I was lost, trying desperately to get found.
I am lying on the floor looking at the ceiling, I wonder how long I had been lost in my thoughts, when I see the red box. I had never seen it. It was on top of the book shelf, I am curious to know what it might be, so I reach for it and then I open it.
Today was going to be our fifth anniversary and I did not forget but I blocked it from my memory , I didn’t want to think about him, about us and all the things that would never be.
It made me depressed and made everybody right about me needing therapy. Therapy was something I wanted to do on my own terms. I had a right to be sad, I lost my husband, I lost my husband!!!
Inside the box I found a book, I opened it and it read to my darling on our fifth wedding anniversary. On the next page I saw what Jordy wrote.
Dear, Sarah I have accepted a position to teach literature in English at a university. So now you can be a full time poet and I’ll be the reality check for both of us. I want you to live your dream and I’ll be honored if I help you get there, so here is a book of blank pages, fill in it my love with your blank verses. The letter ended with his definition of who a poet was.
By this time my eyes are filled with tears and I stopped reading because I knew it by heart and then I recite it.
I don’t know how long I cried for, I know I cried myself to sleep at some point, because when I woke up my eyes were swollen and I felt this calmness around me.
Then in one of the blank pages I write dear Jordy, I forgive me,I forgive you and I forgive us. I am definitely keeping the house, I’ll go for therapy and I’ll be a full time poet.