August 4, 2010
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I’ve never experienced such beauty in all my 83 years of living. The sun is rising, pinks, blues, and orange. It’s lovely and takes me back to my days with Bud. He would have appreciated this more than anyone else I know. I wish he was here with me now.

I’m walking along the old abandoned railroad tracks behind our house. They used to shake and rattle the house as they came by many years ago. Bud used to hate it and when the old tracks were finally retired we used to walk them together every morning before sunrise. It started out as a celebration, and slowly turned into a ritual. It was our own time together. Our own special place, where we could enjoy each other’s company and not even have to speak a word to each other.

Now that I’m old myself and forever without my darling Bud, I walk these as often as I can. It’s hard some days. Sometimes I just sit and cry. Some days I laugh at the silly memories we used to share, that I can now only call my own.

As I hear a rustle in the trees I turn to see my lovely daughter Lillian. She is 49, still young with a great husband and two beautiful children. She is still very much in love with her husband but could never imagine what I am going through, even two years after Bud’s death.

“I knew I’d fine you here. How long have you been out?” Lillian asks.

I stare at a weathered rock and contemplate if I should answer her or not. I’m so tired of my children worrying about me. I just want to be alone with my Bud again. So I simply say, “I don’t keep track anymore.”

“Well why don’t we walk back home and I’ll make you your favorite breakfast, eggs and bacon. Sound good?” Lillian asks.

But this pains me more than she knows. This was Bud’s favorite. I only ate it every morning because he was a gentleman and cooked it for me. I don’t say anything back to my daughter and when she notices I haven’t been following her she calls, “Come on Ma.”

I slowly shuffle my feet forward. This is the hardest part of my day, leaving the tracks. It’s almost as if his spirit is here, and I leave him behind each day. I want to throw myself to the moss covered ground and let my sobs fly free, but I hold it together for Lillian, knowing she would cry to. But mostly for Bud, knowing that he would never want me to feel this way. To live this way.

As I reach my daughter, I grab her fragile hand and she looks at me with tears in her eyes. I lost my love, but she lost a Father.

“He loved you so much Lillian,” I tell her as I whip her eyes,

“I know Ma.”

“And we both miss him dearly,” I say.

“I know.” And she puts on a sympathetic smile.

We both walk away and as we reach the beginning of the trees, I take one more quick look at those never changing railroad tracks. I know he’s here. I think I always have.

“He’ll be waiting Ma. However long it takes,” Lillian assures me.

“I know baby.”

As we walk away towards our same old house, I realize now, that I was never alone.

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