January 20, a day that will live, ironically, in infamy. Kyle, my beloved husband of only 13 years, passed away at the age of 35 on that day in 1992. Hard to believe it has been twenty years; and while it doesn’t seem like yesterday–and time does heal some wounds–the impact of that event will never be over. I have maintained I had to become a different person just to carry on; the young, naive girl who lost her love could not sustain herself without it. I had to leave familiar faces and places and seek out new ones that didn’t remind me constantly of what was missing. And true, exotic adventures and exciting vistas entertained momentarily, but only that. My journey was always circular: what I was running from and looking for were the same thing–and neither existed any more. This really came home to me when I was in Turkey with my friend Banu a few years ago. I had bought a ring from some eager merchant, and he was just as eager to have his picture taken with me. We mugged for the camera, faking an engagement photo-op, but I noticed Banu wasn’t amused. Later, I asked why. “You should not flirt,” she stated. “You are married.” Before a denial could even pass my lips, I realized, in my heart of hearts, she was right. I was still married to Kyle. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t around to participate in this holy union–I was still just as married, just as faithful. No wonder I hadn’t been able to find a replacement–I couldn’t, and I didn’t need one. He was still there. A certain peace settled inside me. I could stop looking. I just needed to learn to focus on how to be content with this special arrangement, this long-distance marriage, so to speak. Just acknowledging that was a giant step in the right direction. With the Lord’s help, it grows easier every day. Thank you for that wisdom, Banu. Happy anniversary, Kyle. I’m still here–wherever I am.
brileyrebecca 