Untitled Story

I should have been there. Held him a little closer. I should have done a lot of things. He had been through so much. He'd been through the war about 5 years ago, came back and wasn't right. Doctor says he has PTSD now. Now he's just witnessed the only person he ever loved die in his arms. He'd loved her since '73, when they were both in their youth.

I saw him lying in bed, crying. He had been holding her favorite blouse. Sadness and grief crept in slowly but ever so silently. I felt I was the only person he really needed in the moment, so I crawled in bed and laid with him. What I didn't know is that I would soon leave him too.

I remember waking up but I didn't- couldn't move my body. In fact, I was standing over my body. But I could touch my body. I knew what had happened that night, and I knew that this would kill him. He's already so fragile, so broken, yet so soft and gentle.

I moved my body from the bed, burying it in the back yard with all of the pretty flowers we had planted together. That was our thing, y'know?

I crawled back into bed, cuddling him, making sure he was okay, knowing this was my time to go into the light. I kissed him gently on the forehead, not shedding a single tear. I knew he would be okay, and someday, he would open himself up to someone new. Someone who could love him...just as much as I did.