Fire and Rain

"Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone..."

-James Taylor

     I heard the song Fire and Rain on the radio this morning and in an instant my heart knew the time of year.  Tomorrow would be my ex-husband's birthday.  We married my first semester of college.  He had been married once before and already had two children, who were toddlers at the time.  I will omit the details of the rise and fall of our relationship, but basically, we were just too young.  Close to five years after we said, "I do," we signed "I don't," but for the most part remained friendly and we both moved on.

    One late August afternoon, five years after our divorce, I got a telephone call letting me know that he had taken his life earlier that day.  I called his sister to see if it was true.  When all I heard were tears, I knew it was.  She managed to utter, "he's gone, girl.  He's gone."

    Another five years have come and gone since his death.  I decided after five years of marriage, five years of divorce, and five years since he passed, this was the year I needed to start letting go-- of the anger, sorrow, and mostly, of the guilt.  For five years, I had prayed he found his rest, and I came to the realization that I deserve the same peace. And somewhere in my process of letting go, this is what came out--

I remember the day I married you,
Waiting outside the double doors, knowing my life was about to change.
I remember the day I married you, walking down the aisle, faceless smiles of loved ones, offering
     best wishes and tight hugs.
I remember thinking that one lifetime with you could never be enough.
I remember the day I married you, it was like I was floating on air and my feet never hit the floor.
The music played,
"I will, I am, I can, I have, I do..."
I vowed to love you forever, promised to be there for your kids, to always love them as my own.
I was scared and you held my hand. We kissed a little too long.
We were just a couple of kids.
I remember the day I married you.

I remember the day I buried you,
Waiting outside the double doors, knowing my life was about to change.
I remember the day I buried you, faceless loved ones, offering condolences and tight hugs.
I remember wondering how our lifetime could fit so tightly into such a small box.
I remember the day I buried you, I couldn’t even feel the tears on my cheeks. It was like each one fell right to the floor.
I remember wondering if you thought of me the day you chose to end your life,
     and whether I was a memory or a reason.
I remember wondering if I ever said the words "I am sorry," or "I forgive you."
I think I did, I think you knew. I wish I knew you knew.
I remember driving to the cemetery and the song on the radio blared,
"through your family I’ll fulfill your dreams..."
I will love you forever. I will love your kids as my own.
When they are scared, I will hold their hands.
I am sorry I could not save you. I am sorry I left you to fight your demons alone.
We were just a couple of kids.
I remember the day I buried you.

"I've seen fire and I've seen rain

I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.

I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,

but I always thought that I'd see you again..."