Before my husband died, we spent every Sunday together starting on the nineteenth of April in 2009.
Before my husband died, I fell in love with his gold heart, which was visible through his green shirt decorated with an unusual ID that included one-alphabetand five digits.
Before my husband died, he said, “ I just want to be with you.”
Before my husband died, we loved each other regardless of opinions, reviews, attitudes or negativity.
Before my husband died, when he spoke, my eyes saw gold in his wordsas they released from his mouth and those words went directly into my heart.
Before my husband died, he said, “All you have to do is love me, sex me, and feed me.”
Before my husband died, our promise was to love and be there for each other.
Before my husband died, love filled up into my heart when he said, “Don’t think I can’t help you just because I’m inside. I know people.”
Before my husband died, He said, “I don’t have the desire to sleep around. I can’t make up for lost time. I can never get that time back.”
Before my husband died, our communication was expressed freely.
Before my husband died, he read his self-written vows on a damp napkin while his eyes were flooded with tears.
Before my husband died, a 30-minute conversation can lighten up my day.
Before my husband died, I had him for six hours every weekend plus holidays.
Before my husband died, the humbleness and the brilliantness from his mind impressed me along with his interesting conversations about his previous actions.
I knew it was love when he convinced me of the abundance of his love. He said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
I knew it was love when he came to me for advice and comfort.
I knew it was love when we sat across the school desk, looked into each other eyes, and admired our Zale’s sterling bands.
I knew it was love when he appreciated the 74.91 miles driven, and the following year, it increased to 312.69, which never stopped our love.
I knew it was love when our problems faded, once we heard each other voices.
I knew it was love when we excluded opinions, attitudes, jealousy, finances and negativity into our unions.
I knew it was love when I felt that I was the only woman in the world.
I knew it was love when our minds were focus on our future.
I knew it was love when I felt the comfort as we discussed our hectic weeks.
I knew it was love when the 45th day was approaching, so we could have our moment alone without the men in green or the light blue uniform, but a required system to make sure he was with me.
I knew it was love when we planned our nuptials on the third of April in Great Neck, New York.
I knew it was love when we favored the same song, “Bed” by J. Holiday to be played in the background while we made love for the very first time.
I knew it was love when the third day arrived, we promised to keep our love for each other until the day we died.
The last sentences spoken by my husband on January 13, 2011 at 9 p.m.:
I want to start a family.
It will always be about you and I.
No one will come between us.
Whoever don’t agree with our union, cut them off.
I want to make you happy.
I would never let anyone hurt you.
I would never put anything ahead of our union.
That night, I pressed the end button on my cellphone at 9:20 p.m. I never heard from my husband again. The next day, they let him go. My heart sank. I lost my best friend, my companion, and my future. I wish I had not pressed the hit button.
My husband didn’t die physically. He died from the person I known him to be. I’m going through a divorce but he stopped being this person. When you have this love, enjoy it because it can eventually die. I miss him as this person. I also want you to know that it’s okay to be in love and it’s okay to miss being in love.
Rest in Peace!
Nicole Ramsey is a city gal who is obsessed with her happiness and shoes. She’s also an aspiring author, mom of three beautiful offsprings, loves to blog & talk, and Lehman College Alumni located in the Boogie Down! My favorite quote: “With our tongues, we can neither bless or curses our lives.
Featured Image from healthyblackwoman.com