The Speech

He rose from his chair, flute of expensive champagne in hand, and tapped against the glass.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming to our wonderful celebration. It is our truly special and sincere joy to have you all here to witness our wedding. We are blessed!

“If I may take up a few minutes of your time and temporarily halt the merriment for a moment to say a few things about this incredible woman that strangely accepted my proposal of marriage. There are a few things I want to acknowledge before all of you.

“Foremost I need to try and express just how much I love her. Some of you know her well and that statement alone requires no further explanation. But many of you have only met her today or have gotten to know her through me. There’s just so much more to her.

“While I myself have only known her for a year I can honestly say that I loved her immediately. But rather than say, ‘Hello. My name’s Gavin. Will you marry me,’ I decided to give her a few months so I wouldn’t scare her off with my proclamation.” He smiles wistfully.

“Most of you know me as guarded and a little shy, not one to be impulsive or spontaneous. But she coaxed those impulses out of me and with each date and encounter I had to fight to not blurt out my intent. I managed to withhold my pledge of love until our thirteenth date by only the most extreme force of will. And, to her credit, she did not run away.

“And, again to no surprise, it took her several more months to return the sentiment. And she’s considered the impulsive one of the two of us!” He gives his little smile and looks down at the table with a pause. When he looks up, strong emotion shows clearly on his face.

“My life has been no smooth road of happiness. It’s had a fair share of rough patches. And you all know about my time in rehab. If you don’t it is only because you met me after. If it hadn’t been for her I would still be struggling, trying to fight my way free of my own undoing. And all along the way she was there to support and encourage both with tenderness and discipline. She would not allow me to fail or even let me consider the option.

“No, she is that kind of person. And through it all, both before and after, she took the worst of me in understanding and forgiveness. And, friends, she took a lot of it. And still here she sits, blushing and praying that I just stop.” He takes a moment and looks down. A tear drops from his eye and wets the dust on the table. 

“She is my bride, my wife, my friend, my love, and the most important person in my life. I will never, ever stop loving her no matter what happens. I love you with all of my heart and soul, Jes.” He stopped again, his words dry and quiet. He fought at all of the memories and emotion that pushed against his resolve like a dam about to succumb. Lip trembling and more tears slipping out of his clamped eyes. “Please don’t leave me.”

He fell back into the chair. It scraped against the dirty floor and the noise echoed across the large empty room. He began to cry.

Between sobs he looked at the chair beside him, a chair occupied by his new wife exactly ten years ago but now empty and crusted with layers of dust, the celebration hall void of friends and relatives and closed for the last three years. He sniffed back his sadness and said quietly, “Happy anniversary, Jes. How I wish I had said all that ten years ago. Everything was going to be perfect but I was drunk and blathered about how lucky you were to land a hunk like me. Embarrassed, you finally got me to sit and kept me quiet. I spoiled that day and so much of our life. Your life.

“I have so many regrets that started on that day up until last week. How did I not recognize the gift I was given? How amazing you were? So much opportunity to tell you, show you. And yet you loved me every day despite my shortcomings, my many, many mistakes.” The chair only sat silent. Gavin ached for her to be there, thought somehow that returning to their wedding day on this tenth anniversary would allow him some closure, some recompense, some penance for his sins. But while he spoke the truth and gave the speech he should have given, it did not erase the past. At their wedding he had relapsed and drank too much and became the fool he always was. It would take him a year to recover again. Seven long months of denial, anger and blame. They were close to separating but she refused in the end. Fought him hard for change, to see he wasn’t alone. Finally he returned to rehab once more and they struggled forward. It paid off finally. And he was sober after that. With her support he made it, got clean, stayed that way. For her. For himself. 

But she got sick. The prognosis bad. The time far too short. His regret far too large. His life had meaning, purpose, direction. And love. But she died 28 days ago and now his rudderless course was heading for the rocks. He looked at the glistening condensation on the champagne bottle, the slow rise of bubbles in the flute. In the alcohol there was solace. Comfort. Escape.

He threw the glass, smashed the bottle, looked back at the desolate chair. “I’m sorry.”

He stood and walked back to the side door he had managed to force open earlier. Half expecting police to be waiting outside he peered around the edge of the door frame only to find the alley vacant. He walked to his car, opened the door and sat. For a few moments he left the door ajar and just looked at the venue. He replayed a little of that day in his mind. Then he let the flood of his life with Jess wash over him. The laughter, the tears, the joy, the sorrow. It was all there and she at the center, guiding each experience back to them, to them together.

He managed a thin smile.

That last day in the hospital four weeks ago. She couldn’t talk, was unresponsive. He had been there, at her side, for a week straight. He held her hand, tethering her to life, softly recounting his misdeeds, pleading with her to stay. Then he felt her grip tighten as he choked out, “I am so sorry, Jes. So very sorry.” And then she was gone. He interpreted the squeeze as a sign, an acknowledgement that she had somehow heard him and understood his torment. 

That she had forgiven him.

He hadn’t cried. 

Five days later they had the funeral. He walked through the exequies numb, unfocused. He didn’t offer a eulogy, didn’t recount details and anecdotes during the wake. The whole affair was distant, unreal; like a smokey dream where he was someone else. 

He didn’t cry.

But today he looked at the calendar, flipped it over to the new month and saw the date circled, Jess’ handwriting proclaiming it was their tenth anniversary. He tore it down, slammed his fist into the place it held on the wall, and collapsed into a sobbing mess. He owed her something, some token of his realization. His epiphany.

His mind went back to the beginning, his grand mistake that slipped into the chemistry of their bond, soured the memory, foreshadowed his inability to appreciate her on a basic level. He needed to make that right in the hopes that she would know. He knew what he had to do. He grabbed a crowbar.

After sitting outside the funeral hall staring at the jimmied side entrance for several minutes Gavin started his car, closed the door, fastened his seat belt. He drove the car back home. 

Entering the house he stopped and stood in the foyer listening. Silence. Somewhere the house gave up a small creak. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, relaxed his body, emptied his mind. 

He could hear the city persisting without a misstep. Traffic sounds, someone yelling, a lawn mower. He caught a whiff of her, a scent of her that had stubbornly lingered in the house like a phantom. And then, for just a second, he felt her gripping his hand. And then she was gone.

And outside the World continued.