The Embrace
There’s a picture of a hug on my phone. It’s between me and my late wife. Her left cheek rests on my right breast, the top of her head close to my chin, her face turned to the camera. She’s smiling. Her left arm is wrapped around my back with her hand lying on the top of my left shoulder. Her right hand is open and pressed against my left shoulder. It’s a warm embrace. We could be ready to dance. She’s wearing a silver western shirt she favored. I’m in black. We’re a couple.
But that was then. She passed in August. It’s Valentines day. It’s freezing outside. There’s no one to hug. We shared fifty winters. It started in a garage apartment with a double bed and a gas heater that we turned off at night. We had a quilt and each other. It went through three children and better heating, but we still turned it down at night because we always had a good quilt and each other. Now she’s gone, the heat is gone, and the cold has come. Even with a good quilt, there’s still a chill in the air.
Being alone after all those years isn’t really the end of the world. It just feels like it. My whole world is frozen. The trees are cased in ice. The ground is solid with it. Tomorrow there will be snow. It’s enough to make a beating heart be still. But therein lies the magic of memories; they’re the banked coals of yesterday’s fire. With a bit of kindling, a gentle breath, and the good wood of tomorrow, they can breathe warmth and love back into a cold desolate landscape. They’re my salvation. A reminder that nothing lasts forever, and there is always a tomorrow to make new yesterdays.