This Writing Group submission was written by CSCLA Participant, Shannon Graham, with the prompt, “Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.” – Mary Oliver. If you left the door open to the unimaginable, what would you hope would walk through?

Love. 

A few months before we knew your cancer had spread to your brain, you asked me if after you were gone, if I would ever get married again. My visceral response was an emphatic, “NO!” My tone and the look on my face, which I assume was something like disgust, was enough for you to return with a deeply hurt, “God. Was being married to me that awful?” It didn’t matter that you took what I meant in a completely different way than I meant it. You were wounded by my words.

When I said, “NO!” I was thinking about starting over. I was thinking about learning how to live with someone else. Going on dates. Talking to people that I didn’t already have a rhythm with. Didn’t have built in jokes with or looks with so that we knew what the other person was thinking without making a sound. I was thinking about the work and difficulty that comes from a long-term relationship. A partnership. I was thinking that it wasn’t just about me. It was about how our daughter would feel about her dad being replaced by someone new. Finding someone who wasn’t you because replacing you wasn’t something I could do. I didn’t want any of that. Twenty-four years is a long time to craft a relationship with someone. Why would I want to start over?

I often replay the damage control I had to do that night knowing you were so worried about leaving me and your little girl behind. I think about how I could have responded differently. How I could have just said that I don’t think I can start over and build a new life with a new person rather than throwing that dart of a ‘NO!” at you. But the truth is, I had thought about it and I didn’t want to do it again. But now that you are gone…

Now that I am alone in this house raising our daughter, I don’t expect it to happen and can’t imagine starting over with someone else. But I do want love. I want someone to go through this life with. Someone to laugh with. To cry with. To do absolutely nothing with. I understand what you were asking now. You weren’t asking for you. You were asking for me. You didn’t want me to be alone. You wanted me to experience life the way you had. With love.

And not just for me. You were thinking about our daughter. About how she needed someone to teach her to ride a bike. Someone to teach her how to drive because we always said I should not be the one to teach her. You knew that what your girls were going to need more than anything else after you were gone was someone to love them and care for them in all the ways they didn’t know they needed. We need someone to be silly when it’s too serious and fear sets in. We need Dodger baseball and bobbleheads. We need new ridiculous song lyrics to songs we know and love. You knew that I would need someone to listen for far too long as I rant about the injustice of something regardless of how trivial or important it is. That I need someone to bring the irreverence and levity to balance my all to serious nature. That I need someone to give the best hug to make everything melt away. Because that is love. That is what marriage is when it’s good and even when it’s hard.

If you asked me the same question now, I would say, “Yes. After enough time passes and I figure out how to do life by myself for a while and when I think I don’t need it. Then, I hope love comes unexpectedly thorough that door.”

CSCLA’s weekly Writing Group takes place every Wednesday over Zoom from 1-3 PM.
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