The Weeping Willow

I was sitting in my new favorite park. I had just moved to town a few months ago and had been looking for a new spot to write in. I was walking through the city one day and spotted the most beautiful willow tree I’d ever seen, and right underneath it was a cute little bench. I started spending my days writing and editing there. It became the one place I felt safe fairly quickly.

About a year ago, I lost my husband. He was killed overseas. It tore my world apart. I felt I had nothing to live for. For months, I would walk around our old home and cry about every memory we’d ever made in each spot in the house. It got to the point that I couldn’t make myself breakfast without bursting into tears. So I decided to sell the house. I packed everything up and moved across the country. My late husband and I had lived near the ocean when we first met, but quickly moved due to the military. I had always felt a sense of peace near the water so I moved to the East coast and bought a house on the beach.

When I first moved into my new home, I spent a lot of time on the beach trying to write, but it reminded me too much of him and the times we’d spent together lounging at the beach. Even though I hadn’t put many of his things up in the new house, it also still reminded me of him. I could feel the emptiness all around me. I needed a new safe space to clear my head and be able to write. Before he passed, I had been working on my first novel, but hadn’t touched it in over a year. It was the one thing I had been passionate about since we’d met, but I always found excuses not to write. Then when he got deployed, I had a ton of free time and honestly needed to fill my time with something other than worrying about his safety and how many days it would be until he was finally back home. So I started on my novel finally. Now I needed to write to fill the void of knowing he was never coming home.

Once I found that bench under that gorgeous willow tree, it was like I couldn’t stop writing. I was in a world of my own and my creativity flourished. I would spend hours there and completely lose track of time. All of a sudden, I’d look up and it would be dark outside. I loved my new safe space.

That is, until the day I saw him. I was deep in the climax of my story. I was engulfed in my writing. I hadn’t looked up for hours, until something caught my eye. It was him. It was my husband. I’d know the back of that head anywhere. I had loved him for eleven years. There was no mistaking him. I watched his walk and the way he looked around admiring the beauty of the outdoors. I knew it was him. Without thinking, I threw my laptop down and ran to him. I grabbed him, hugged him and immediately started sobbing. I was filled with so many emotions in those few seconds. I was so happy to see him. I was confused as to how he was here. I was angry that he wouldn’t come see me the moment he came home. Then I looked up. In the eyes looking back at me was a look of confusion. He looked at me like I was a stranger, like we hadn’t spent eleven beautiful years together. I said his name, “Michael”. But he just continued to stare at me with that confused look in his eyes.

After a few seconds, I unwrapped myself from around him, but kept my hand around him arm. He was definitely my husband, so I couldn’t understand why he would be looking at me like he’d never seen me before in his life. Then he said, “Who’s Michael?” I looked him dead in the eyes and said, “You are. What are you talking about? Where have you been? It’s been over a..” he cut me off. With a stern look on his face he said, “Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but my name is Edward. I’m sorry if you’re confused, but I have never met a Michael in my life. Now please step back and let go of me.” With that, he turned and walked away from me. He walked with anger and maybe a bit of confusion. He glanced back once, looking at me like I was a crazy woman. But I know it was him. How could I possibly mistake someone else as my husband? Had I gone mad? Was I simply wishing it was him after yearning for him for the past year? No. I know that was my husband. I will see him again.

I continued coming back to that bench every day. I would write a little at first, but I could barely focus. I spent most of my time looking around hoping to see him again, knowing I would. After a while, I quit writing completely. I would just sit. I would sit on that bench waiting, watching for him everywhere. I knew he would come back and I would be there. I knew that was my husband and I was determined to see why he said his name wasn’t Michael. Why had he looked at me that way? How could he just walk away from me? Was he confused? Ha he experienced amnesia? Was he just walking around this world not knowing I existed? Or was he lying? And why? Why? Why would the universe tease me with seeing him that day? I had moved across the country. This couldn’t be coincidence. I would sit there everyday if I had to. I would see my husband again.