For me, it does not take much to remember his laughter, his voice, his mannerisms, and his strange and compelling way of looking at things. I remember the look in his eyes the first time I watched him hold our first born child. I remember how carefully he held our son--how he used to rock him to sleep. And, those times when I just did not have what our son needed most, it was he who could quiet him and make him laugh. I remember the feel of my hand in his the first time he held mine. I remember when he first told me he loved me. I remember the last time, too, after our divorce. I remember the way we shared our dreams together. I remember the pride in his voice when he received awards from work. I remember holding him. I remember what the stubble on his face feels like, the smell of his hair, the sound of his sleep. The passion of his guitar playing. The magic of the lyrics to his songs. His presence is here in this home, in everything I look at, in everything I touch. I remember how loving he was towards the little critters of earth. And, his desire to live a simple life. To work his own land. To find joy in the accomplishments he made, and in sharing it with his family. Most of all, I remember his wonderful kisses and his loving embrace. He is still the first person I think of when I awake, and the last when I go to bed.

Obviously, there were other less desireable memories of him. The ones that tore us apart. The ones I participated in. The ones that, sometimes, these days, I find myself ashamed of the way I behaved. Those memories, I do not enjoy thinking about at all. Perhaps, the healing lies within the walls I put up around those memories. But, I don't dare look for the answers right now, or I should find myself completely broken. I can't help but wonder, though, what if I had just not reacted to him? What if I had allowed some of his accusations just to be, without any retaliation or acknowledgement on my part? Would he have discovered that many of the accusations he made about my character bore no justification? Would he have taken the time to try to think things out and communicate evenly with me? Instead, especially in the later years, we came head to head in our arguments, neither of us willing to budge. And, in both believing that only one of us was right--we both became so very wrong.

However, overall, I guess I was always the optimist while he was always the pessimist when it came to our relationship. No matter how hard things would get, I used so much of my energy to ward off the negativity that seemed to permeate our lives, just so I could continue being the wife I wanted to be to him. The one I felt my husband deserved. Yet, the man I had met and married was hiding much more deeply inside himself than I had actually thought. I could not, then, nor even now, understand what had transpired within his being to hide himself so. The harder I tried to reach out to him, the deeper inside himself he retreated, until I could hardly recognize him. Only in the quiet moments between ourselves did he show that part of himself again to me--moments interspersed and unpredictable. I don't know why he had chosen to reveal himself to me in this way. But, I do know the man I married still exists within the seeming callousness of his frame.

Near the end, spending all my time fighting our inevitable fate brought me just short of being myself each day. I could no longer do the things for my husband that I wished so greatly to do as his wife. I would not admit it then, but looking back now, I know that I stood my ground, even when I didn't need to, just to preserve what was left of myself. Perhaps, it was the same with him. I do not know. Until now, that was the hardest thing I have ever had to endure in my life. For some people, I know they would not have taken it that far, and probably would have quit a long time ago. But, there was that special "something" that he and I shared that kept us wanting to hold on. Perhaps, if we could have focussed on that more, we might be together today.