Neither You, Nor Your Marriage, Are Guaranteed a Tomorrow

Neither You, Nor Your Marriage, Are Guaranteed a Tomorrow

It was a special last weekend for me. I went back to the place that has always been meaningful to me, over two decades since I last visited, to fulfil my husband’s dying wish. He passed away almost two years ago and requested to be cremated, with his ashes to be sprinkled on the beach where we found love in the first place. 

It was a small cove on the Oregon coast, isolated and secluded. I didn’t get the chance to visit the cove often, just a handful of visits during the summer, but that’s where I felt at one with myself and the world. When I lost my job ten years ago, I sought a lot of comfort there. When my anxiety at night prevents me from falling asleep, my mind goes to the cove to find silence. 

I got engaged 30 years ago when my husband proposed to me there. We quit visiting when we became first-time parents, hence the long gap. Visiting the cove was an emotional rollercoaster. When you are not prepared, memories have a way of flooding back. 

Luckily, my best friend accompanied me and gave me the space to rationalize everything. It’s saddening to go back to a once treasured place after many years out of fear that it might have changed. Fortunately, everything seemed as before. Even the old beach house across the cove looked the same, from the outside at least. The ancient oak tree that marked our prime spot was still there. The air still felt like the sea, and the sky still tasted like an adventure. 

I had arranged a modest gathering there—my children, a handful of long-time friends, my sister, and a pair of cousins who had driven up from California. The experience was overwhelming—jubilation at seeing all the familiar things, appreciation for the company, and regret for the circumstances that brought us together. That’s life, I guess. Celebrating my husband in one place that tied our past. The jubilation was interspersed with tears. 

Given my family’s history of long life, I hope I can repeat the annual excursion one day. In the meantime, I have my memories and my emotions. And I can come back to the cove in my musing whenever I feel like it. The cove was also a reminder of how limited our time on earth is. A lot of people take time for granted. What are you waiting for? What time are you putting off to enjoy your dreams and aspirations? I already got my trip to my favourite cove out of the way.