Afterwards

The day after I remember waking up in Kiersten’s bed to bright sun light, realizing what had happened. Marcus was gone. The tears began to come as the anxiety oozed up into my chest as my body and brain would begin to remember what happened the day before. Breathing became harder, the tears dropped, and my body began to shake. I felt the hand of my best friend on my back. It was both comforting and startling to my reality. Marcus was gone. This process of remembering would happen often over the next few years upon awakening, painful each time.

I tried so hard those first few days, weeks to deny reality. My brain, my body couldn’t absorb the truth of his passing. The truth was too crazy, too ridiculous, too hurtful, too final. Over time, you ease into the new reality, the new emptiness of your life. I didn’t go home for a week, then I didn’t stay by myself in our apartment for two month. My friends had a rotating slumber party schedule. I didn’t wash Marcus’s clothes for a long time. I didn’t want his smell to be gone forever. I also didn’t want to launder only my clothes because that felt wrong as well. All evidence that a bike was ever in the apartment were removed. I wouldn’t go by his work, Harlem Children’s Zone. I couldn’t be in the same room as his parents for the longest time because his absence was so real. I couldn’t listen to any song with any suggestion of death, or love lost. I have never gone to the spot at 120th & Madison Ave, near a rent-to-own where he departed from this earth. I was only 13 blocks south on Madison when he died.

I wanted to deny reality so much that I became obsessed with Keeping up with the Kardashians. Yes you read that correctly. It was 23 minutes of mind numbing TV. But even then you start to question God - why do Scott and Kourtney get to be together, but not Marcus and I? Where is your justice, O Lord?

A friend who had lost her husband young, told my people to make sure I was always physically touched. Their touch grounded me, brought me back to reality, back down to earth. It brought me out of my racing thoughts, to be physically reminded that I was alive, not alone. That I was surrounded by beautiful dear friends. Part of you floats off, but through touch and my friends constant presence I did not drift off completely. I had an image of being a very sad red balloon held by a thin string. Why are balloons always red?

The memorial service happened on Sunday before people went back to work. He died Friday morning, Sunday we remembered him. Now I can’t believe people pulled it off. It was a beautiful service, filled to the brim with people we love and who loved us well. The speakers were recorded which seems weird, but was immensely appreciated because I did not hear any of what was said that day. I have been able to listen to the service several times since. There were many truths spoken about life, love, death, and God in their words. Many people were affected by their words. I didn’t give a crap about that at the time, but appreciate it now. Several people have subsequently shared how those words that day changed how they lived, how they loved.

Eventually the question starts to change from “what happened?” to “what now?”

Eight years later life looks much different. I know I say that a lot, but it takes a while to process. I am a single widow mom to two former orphans. I own a house in Cincinnati, the city of both our childhoods. Life is filled with kids stuff - food, homework, bedtime routines, teaching each other to be sweet, to be family. I keep pictures of Marcus around the house. His ashes sit in a bookcase in the dining room. Two shelves below the bourbon. I can’t remember if he built the bookcase or not. After eight years you start to forget. Forgetting things use to appall me and bring on anxiety, but you’ll never forget the important stuff. I’ll never forget how it felt when he asked me to be more than friends, or to be his wife. How much he made me laugh and smile. How protected I felt being his wife. Or how it felt to be held by him, the softness of his lips, or the dip in his nose that only I knew about. I’ll never forget how it felt to be loved by a man so full of life and love. I will never forget how lucky I am that God tied our hearts together at such a young age.

Most importantly he lives on in our lives - his parents, brothers, friends, and me. Even in these children of mine that he’s never met. I love more deeply, play harder, and laugh louder because I loved and was loved by Marcus. I am more patient, more spontaneous. I have a different definition of success for my kids. I know my strengths and weaknesses because of my short time with Marcus. George always loves to hear about Marcus. It should be noted, they have very similar personalities and the same tendency towards mischievous spontaneous creative adventures. So George’s favorite stories are when Marcus did something he shouldn’t have. George likes to discuss what it will be like in heaven when they do meet. I let him lead the conversation and answer his questions the best I can. Will he be my dad? I don’t know we’ll ask Jesus. Will he give me lots of piggyback rides? Um, through my tears, yes, all day long.