This is a story that spans a lifetime, and it is somehow encapsulated in the years of my life with Peter – and the time since his death. I am telling it from memories that are etched in my mind. Like words written in the face of a mountain of stone, they are immutable.
I remember the pounding in my chest and the dizziness that made it hard to think. Confused thoughts swirling in my head as early morning fog engulfed me, swallowing me whole. I struggled with the truth that was trying to emerge, dark as the throat of a giant snake, gripping and choking me. There was no escape. No, no, no!! How could this happen?
The sun had yet to shine on that fateful morning. I stood breathless, my legs weak while the reality I was trying hard to deny invaded me, stealing sanity and reason. The little boat floating free on the still, moonlit water told the tale.
Only moments before, I had discovered a concise and controlled note left by my husband of thirteen years, explaining why he was making the final and greatest decision of his life. If there could be any doubt about what he meant, an undeterred floating vessel bellowed the shocking truth. He was gone, by his own choice and by his own hand. Realization stung my mind as I suddenly remembered the dream – the dream that had been stalking me for weeks, terrorizing my nights and filling me with dread.