I visited my first wife’s grave at the cemetery the day before I got married to my second wife. And my life was completely upended by an unexpected encounter that day.
I’ll finally say “yes” to the woman who has been waiting for me for three long years tomorrow. Every aspect of the event has been painstakingly planned by our family. However, the memory of my first wife, who unfortunately died in an automobile accident four years ago, is a grief that never goes away.
I can still vividly recall that day. In honor of the anniversary of my father’s passing, she had departed early to do some errands and cook a lunch. My entire world was flipped upside down by a straightforward phone call from the hospital that said, “Your wife was in an accident. We did everything we could, but she didn’t survive.”
Her body was motionless when I got there, but her face had that gentle, recognizable smile that had plagued me for ages. Unable to move, I stood motionless. It felt like the world fell apart around me.
I was a shadow for months. Once a place of memories and joy, our home has became chilly, quiet, and deserted. I would fall apart at the smell of her perfume or clean sheets. Family and friends kept telling me I needed to move on, but I didn’t feel ready, as if loving again were a crime.
Then the woman who would accompany me showed up. She was a few years younger than me, kind, considerate, and never intrusive. I had met her at work. My wounded heart gradually thawed by her gentle presence.
She would just sit next to me, a cup of tea in hand, when memories overtook me. She would hold my hand till I was able to breathe again when the chaos of the city incapacitated me. For three years, she never sought to erase my history; she just waited for me to be ready to love again.
In the end, I decided to be married to her, start over, and start a new life. I had to honor my first wife first, though. I needed to visit her grave, clean it, light incense, and have one final conversation with her. No matter where she went, I wanted to think she would have wanted me to be content.
That day, a wonderful rain fell, and the cemetery was deserted, swaying softly with the eucalyptus in the wind. I had a pack of incense, water, white flowers, and a cloth in my backpack. I said, “My love… tomorrow I will remarry,” as I put the flowers down with shaking hands. I’m sure you would want me to find someone to hold my hand if you were here. I have to move on, but I will always remember you. I can’t keep her waiting any longer.
A tear slid down my cheek. I bent over to clean the gravestone. Abruptly, I heard faint footfall behind me.
I turned abruptly toward the footsteps, and there she was: my future wife, wet from the rain, her eyes full with concern. She gently touched my hand and said, “Are you okay?” Emotions whirled within me as I inhaled deeply.
Tears kept streaming down my cheeks even though I didn’t want her to see them. I managed to murmur, “Yes… I’m okay.” I felt totally protected for the first time in a long time when she drew me into her arms. The wet chill of the graveyard stood in stark contrast to the warmth of her hug.
After a little pause, she continued, “I know you’re thinking of her,” in a voice that was almost audible. I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded. “And that’s alright,” she said. “But I’m here now. And I want to walk by you, not to take your place.
I had a new tightness in my heart. Her words didn’t erase my past, but they provided a place where I could finally breathe, love again without shame. I saw the future for the first time when I gazed at her: a future in which the love of my new partner and the memory of my first wife could coexist.
I grasped her hand and squeezed her fingers together. I muttered, “Thank you for waiting.” Her reassuring presence and smile gave me the confidence to turn the page.
Even though we would marry tomorrow, this rainy moment will always be remembered as the real start of our journey together.
