SHARING YOUR LIVES

                                                

 Sometimes, when we drove around the countryside together, she would reach across and lay her soft hand on top of mine and smile. I always drove with my hand on the shifting lever in the console between us, and it was her way to say—we don’t need to talk; we just need to stay in touch. It seemed to me that her simple touch was her way of sharing, even in silence, and her way of saying—we are in this life together and I, for one, am so happy

As I now regroup and try to find my way in life without her, it’s that act of not having someone to share things with that is becoming my biggest obstacle. Sharing goes far beyond the realm of splitting things up with someone. It’s not like “cutting the hamburger in half” we so often did. Especially when it’s grief, joy, love or pride that we are talking about. You can break bread with many people, share a ride or even a drink together, but it takes someone special to truly share your innermost feelings with. Someone special, who knows you better than you know yourself.

You don’t get this way just by tying the knot or moving in together. You get this way because, as time goes along, you grow together and form this bond. A bond not built on getting rich or famous together. A bond, instead, built on love and compassion for each other. Your two hearts beat as one and your feelings go way beyond human understanding. For a short while, after you are first committed to building a life together, it’s almost a feeling of pride. “Look at her,” you would say. “Isn’t she pretty, isn’t she nice, and you know what—she’s mine.” But as time goes on and your love grows, she becomes less of a possession and more of a life partner. You have babies together and share all of the joys, and sometimes the troubles, that come with that responsibility. You watch them grow and sometimes you see that, in so many ways, they are simply an extension of both of you. You build your dream home together and fill it full of memories and mementos.  You bury your parents, and the grief seems so bad and you try not to think about your turn, or hers, with the grim reaper. That’s all a long way off, isn’t it? Maybe I’ll go first, you think, and I won’t have to worry about it. But then, that seems selfish of you—heaping the grief on her—and for the first time, you realize there will be no sharing in this part of life.

I drove home alone from a book fair yesterday, and my first real venture out without her. It was a wonderful day in Northern Minnesota and I had, had a great day with my readers and friends. For one afternoon I had put all of my troubles and strife away, and it was almost like old times again.  I say “almost” because now—alone in the car going down that same road we had traveled so many times together—I looked down at my hand, alone on that shift selector, and gazed at the empty seat next to me. The words from a song by LeAnn Rimes came into my head, even though the radio was playing something else. “You’re my world, my heart, my soul. If you ever leave, baby you would take everything good in my life, and tell me now how do I live without you? I want to know........”