Dear Brian,
When I get to Heaven, will you marry me?
I’ll
understand if you say no. I get that there are probably better options
for you where you are, and with so many secrets of the universe to
explore, I’m sure you don’t want to do them alone. Can you wait for me?
For
some couples, they leave their spouse in their old age and the wait
time for their reunion is just a few years, if not months. You left me
at age 32. I may be down here awhile. Will I be a distant memory or
will you be the first one to greet me when I get there?
Can you tell how much I still love you? How much I miss you?
Can
you see me struggle? I think of you during my darkest hours. I draw
strength from how you dealt with your cancer, refusing to be the victim
and living life until the end. I use you for inspiration to continue
with my life.
I am in the process of
re-learning life. Does it frustrate you to see how much I’ve figured
out since you’ve been gone? To see how better I am with my priorities;
to see me understand how to appreciate life. To treat people the way
you were hoping to be treated. You planted the seeds, but left before
the flowers bloomed. Does that make you mad, or are you proud to see
your handy work of a different me?
Do you see
me trying to live a life without you? Trying to build something new for
myself and take this pain and turn it into something positive? Does
that break your heart? Or are you frustrated I’m not doing enough? Are
you sitting around a pool with all the other husbands and wives yelling
down, “Come on guys, live a little! Didn’t our deaths show you life is
short? Let’s pick up the pace! We’re bored watching all of the
inactivity. Not much gossip here in the land of eternal happiness, so
give us something to talk about.”
Knowing what you now know in heaven, was I a good wife?
Does
heaven allow you to look at all our old fights? You know, the ones
where we’re both arguing, “That’s not what I said!” “Yes, it was.” “No,
it wasn’t.” I’m guessing you can see now I was probably wrong on a lot
of those.
I can be a better wife. I can sit
down and talk, to support your dreams and goals. If you wait for me, we
can have a marriage that Mark Antony and Cleopatra would see and be
jealous of.
So what do you say, Brian? When I
get to heaven, let’s get married. It will be fun. We can both wear
white - white never goes out of fashion in Heaven. We can get married
during a thunderstorm – the lightening will be our candles – and we’ll
rearrange the clouds so our party won’t get wet. I’ll let Chesty Puller
be your your best man; Jane Austen, my maid of honor. Martin Luther
King can give the toast and Moses will lead us in prayer.
I’ll let you have The Beatles be the band, if you let George Washington sit at our table.
We’ll
honeymoon in a private villa owned by Howard Hughes and then buy a
house with a river running through the middle built by Frank Lloyd
Wright, leading to a tennis court in the backyard. We’ll hang out on
our extended porch and watch unicorns drink from the river.
Brian, wait for me, and we can finish up that great marriage we were just starting to achieve before you left.
Love,
Kimberly
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