This is a few days early, but I thought I would share this when I was able to write the words about my late husband Rickey Beers. Humans of New York has impeccable timing in posting this. Reading through the comments from people who have experienced loss and who have had dreams or events connecting them to their loved one after death is beautiful and tragic. In two days the anniversary of my husband Rick passing will be a difficult day. Two years ago the boys and I were in Bend on vacation. We wanted to take Rick, but he couldnt come due to work. We spoke on the phone this day two years ago about a patient of his passing away and he was very shaken. I just wanted to hold him. We missed each other and though I was having a fine time with the boys I was delighted to drive back to Portland on the 29th to see Rick again. I needed to take the boys to Aarons house so we didnt stop home to see Rick together. I knew that they would be back home in few days and I took them on. I will forever feel sad they didnt get another visit with him. They wanted to say hi but it was getting late and I wanted to get them to Aaron. Since then I have never passed on an opportunity to see someone someone we love. On the night of the 29th, I came home and talked to Rick about the amazing sunset I saw while driving. It was like an impressionist painting of purples, blues, and cream blended in perfection. Rick commented on how beautiful it was too. Rick didnt usually note the sky, and I was so excited he was able to simply enjoy the sky. He worked so much and so hard that I worried if he ever had time to enjoy anything. That night he was calm, tender, vulnerable -- my heart melted in his presence. We talked about the loss of his client, discussed the boys happiness and our vacation together, and we went to bed our bodies wrapped around each other in an intensely connected cuddle. Rick had been shaken by death in my absence and he wanted to find comfort with me, with his family. It was the last time we would sleep together and he held me like it was. The next morning I woke up feeling so happy and well rested. I felt so close to him. He told me he loved me, that I was beautiful, that he had missed me. It was a perfect morning. I went to work, returned a rental car, and came home to change before last Thursday on Alberta. I planned to meet my friend David and quickly changed for the occasion. Rick told me I looked stunning. He savored me with such honest appreciation and told me he looked forward to seeing me when I came home. He was tender and warm, and in that moment I knew I needed to hurry home to him. I had a fine evening with David, but I kept checking my phone thinking of Rick. That evening I purchased a teapot for his Fubonn tea collection and upon looking at the sky and impending sunset, departed from Alberta and drove home. It was another beautiful evening, another lovely sky to share with him. We had a magical evening full of love and laughter, dreaming and sharing. It was truly one of the best nights of the year and I felt more in love than ever. We were so close, and Rick told me of how his priorities were turned toward us, our family, our future, our happiness. It was like my dreams had come true. He wanted to stop smoking, he wanted to try for a baby. Earlier that year we lost a baby in the first trimester that we had not planned for. We felt an emptiness and sorrow but a hope for new life. We discussed the timeline to try for another little family member. Rick offered to quit smoking and said he was ready to change his life, to truly embrace and enjoy his full life. All those moments were moments in heaven for me. We were such a blessed couple, but in those hours I felt that blessing magnified and exalted. Even in his passing moments, I told him I was scared and he told me not to be mad at him, that he loved me and he held my hand. He knew it was his last night and he told me good bye. After the EMTs, the trip to the hospital, the seemingly cinematic moment of the doctor and chaplain breaking the news to me, the hours that I sat and held his hand, talked to him, kissed his face before I could muster the strength to call my step son James Ernest Ervin Beers and tell him the news -- all that time ended with me staring at the blue moon that night, cursing it, staring and the world in confusions and anger. Then one by one every light bulb in my house went out. Even in public places when I thought of him the lights would blink. And whenever I would cry out in pain for him to speak to me from his otherworld location, lights would dim, flash, and extinguish. I couldnt see him or touch him, but I could feel his energy around me. I accepted we would meet again on another plane, and that I would have to go on living and loving while perhaps growing more into the woman that I know he would be proud of. He was an amazing human who healed, loved, cared tirelessly without doubting his purpose. I hated sharing him with the world, but I knew then as I know now that his life was a gift to all. On the 30th I may be silent but I will be thinking of him. He is always with me, with us in laughter (he was so funny), stories, kindness, compassion, and grace that characterized the wildly brilliant man I got to share 4 years of life with. Please remember him as he remembered you: with love.
Posted on: Thu, 28 Aug 2014 15:52:49 +0000
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