The Gift
By Freya Pruitt
Most of us never stop to consider how we would
be affected if we suddenly lost our spouse. We go
through each day and usually get caught up in the
hypnotic routine we call life. We fall in love, get
married, and have children and careers. Some of
us are fortunate enough to live charmed lives, and
some have it tough, really tough. I guess I fall into
the latter. But I am lucky; God blessed me with
a strong spirit. I value loyalty and honor. Above
all else, I value love. I am a person of great faith. I
am passionate about life and the welfare of others. I consider myself a strong person. However, I
was not prepared, or would have believed, that an
emotion so strong could have controlled my entire
life. It’s as if it had it’s own power source. It would
materialize absolutely out of nowhere. Memories,
thoughts and feelings could paralyze me in a split
second.
The closest experience I could compare it to would
be falling in love. Do you remember the butterflies in your stomach? That glorious feeling when
you would fall into each other’s arms? Do you
remember the sensation of your heart pounding
with pure, passionate joy? That feeling kept drawing you into one another. The two of you became
the entire world. Everything around you seemed to
vanish. There was this overwhelming desire to be
together…always, then forever. I remember it well.
It never occurred to me that such great love could
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wind up having such a tragic ending. After all,
THOSE love stories only happened in the movies!
Unfortunately, I learned the hard way that great
love has a flip side: grief. And grief, most definitely, has it’s own agenda. Grief has it’s own
method of operation. It materializes right out
of our sub-conscious. Every second of every life
experience that’s been locked up in our personal
“safe,” is suddenly exposed. I learned quickly, that
no person is immune to a thief in the night. I was
caught completely off guard. I never had a chance.
I have experienced three great loves in my life.
I consider myself blessed. Many people never
experience it at all. But in three loves and three
marriages, I can assure you; I only had one true
husband. He died on our anniversary, September
19, 2007. We were married 17 years. I don’t believe in coincidences. I have never been loved like
that before. I never loved another human being so
completely. It truly was like we were one person,
one flesh, and one soul. No, we never lost our identities. Our identities just metamorphosed into the
reflection of each other.
My husband had been very ill and was in the
throws of a full-blown mid-life crisis. He “hit the
road” last December, in my opinion, to have some
good old-fashioned fun. God only knows what
he told his family; whatever it was, he had them
convinced that he was no longer happy. Close
relationships I had shared with his family went up
in smoke in a blink of the eye. My husband had
the gift of gab and he was VERY convincing. His
family never spoke to me again. I have
accepted the reality that only my husband, God,
and myself, will ever know the real truth.
I only wish someone would have listened to me.
Maybe if they knew how ill he was, they could
have held him accountable for his destructive behavior. Maybe he would be alive today. The facts
speak for themselves. We were married for 17
years. Up until the time he left, we
only spent three days apart. Eight months after his
departure, he was dead. His family never even let
me know about his funeral.
He had a massive heart attack on September 19,
on our anniversary. He was already dead when the
paramedics took him to the hospital. He was put
on life support, but the plug was pulled the next
day, as there was no brain activity. No one even
called me to let me know, or asked me what his
personal wishes would have been. It was all over in
a few days.
About a month before Reggie died, he called me
and said, ”Freya, I love you. I did you a favor.”
Then, he hung up. I didn’t know what to think as
he had spoken the most hateful and hurtful things
to me, which, by the way, was totally out of character for him. My mother, who knew him really well,