February 14, 2007.
Valentine’s Day — a day meant to be filled with love and romance for couples and sweethearts.
For me, it was not a day of love.
It was the final goodbye.
A day of heart-wrenching, gut-punching sorrow.
The day we laid him to rest at a quiet graveside service.
The day was cold, gray, rainy, and gloomy. It was as if heaven was matching my grief. His family sat under the pavilion near his casket. His mom was clinging to his dad for support.
Silent tears fell from my eyes mixed with the misting rain. I could taste the salt from them as the stream got heavier. My best friend held on to me, trying to cover me with an umbrella. The rain matched my grief.
The service begun, but I barely remember much. I was so lost in my sorrow that I just stared through my stream of tears at the dark wooden casket covered with the spray of beautiful red carnations.
The minister spoke of Paul’s love of learning, his family, and friends. He read from the bible twenty-third Psalms. In his closing, one verse stuck with me, he read, “2 Corinthians 5:8: we are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.”
I prayed that he was in the presence of the Lord, but I wished that he was still with me, with my children, and here with his parents. My heart felt as if it had shattered all over again.
The service ended with a prayer for peace and comfort for those who mourned him. His parents stood as people began to come forward to offer their condolences. My friend and I were among the last to speak with them.
I hugged them both and said quietly, “I am so sorry for your loss. He will be truly missed.”
His mom looked at me gently and said, “Please take one of the carnations from the spray.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied softly. “Thank you.”
I approached the casket and laid my hand gently against it. It was damp and cold from the rain. I reached forward, carefully taking one red carnation.
Leaning closer, I whispered softly, “I love you so much.”
I clung to that single red carnation as if my life depended on it.
The car ride home was silent, filled only with tears.
My mind began to question everything.
I felt completely lost.
I held that carnation the entire ride home. Its deep red petals were bright against the grayness of the day, a fragile reminder of a love that had been so full of life just weeks before.
As the miles passed beneath us, a painful realization settled into my heart — the world would keep moving forward, but the life I thought I would have with him was now gone.
Somehow, on a day meant to celebrate love, I learned how deeply grief and love are forever intertwined.
On a day the world celebrates love, I said my final goodbye to the love of my life.
Ebbs & Flows 