Today should be Martin's 37th birthday.
We should be waking up together. He'd get out of bed and stretch and complain and I'd joke about him getting old, at which point he'd point out that I'm four years older than him and that he should trade me in for a younger model... We'd go about our respective days, me with the kids and work, him with the horses. We'd maybe do something, but more than likely it would just be the four of us, dinner together, a cosy night at home. He'd crack some jokes about my weight, I'd point out his receding hairline. We'd wait for the kids to go to bed and then Martin would start with his tanks (that fucking playstation) and I'd sit and read a little. Then to bed, where we'd furtively have sex, hoping that neither of the kids wake up, before curling up and falling asleep.
It sounds like a great day no? I mean, maybe not if you're younger- you'd want to be out, partying with friends, drinking like there's no tomorrow.... but to someone a little older, in a steady relationship with the love of their life, it would be perfect.
But we don't live in a perfect world.
When I first met Martin, I thought he was about 15 years old. Anyone who knew
him will always say how he looked so young- it was why I never let him shave, it was the only way to convince people he was old enough to be inside a pub.
We were in our 20s, and the future seemed a lifetime away. We had Tomas and settled into a routine of work and family. We were our own little unit. We started to speak of plans for the future- working here, maybe buying a youngster and making some horses.
Life continued, both of us into our 30s. Slightly more tired, a few clothes sizes bigger. We had Morena and made more plans, finding somewhere better to live than our tiny little flat, saving to buy a house and contemplating keeping some money aside for buying something in Argentina for the future- He always wanted to move back once the kids were older. I would dye my hair complaining about the grey, he'd worry about his hairline receding. We'd discuss the future, planning a wedding that wouldn't happen for a while because we still had plenty of time.
Life, however, had other plans...... Suddenly there wasn't time. It became more precious, more important as the world went into limbo and revolved around the waking nightmare that was our daily pill count, weekly blood tests, constant appointments in the midst of dealing with someone otherwise fit and healthy, still playing football, dancing with the kids, arguing with his wife about taking the bins out. In the last twelve months together nothing mattered but time.
And then it was gone.
I turned 41 recently. It is an age Martin, and countless others, will never reach. He passed away with a total of three grey hairs. Three. I will never see him go grey, or bald. I will never see lines around those beautiful dark eyes of his. I will never celebrate another birthday, Christmas, anniversary with him. He will never see the kids grow up, decide what they want to do with their lives. He will never walk Morena down the aisle, see them start their own families, be able to spoil his grandchildren.
We will never be able to share those things together. I will never grow old with the person that I love most, and I really did want to. I wanted to annoy him well into our old age, by which point he'd have forgotten half of my annoying traits and I could start to annoy him all over again, just as he did me. I wanted to have those quiet moments where I would look at him and just love him even more, for the rest of my life, and instead I only got to have it for the rest of his.
I have significantly more grey hairs than three. My children regularly remind me of the wrinkles on my face. Before I would have been bothered by this, would have dyed my hair, been trying to cover the lines. Now, I don't. Every single grey hair, every single line, stretch mark, scar..... They show I have lived. I have lived, and I have survived, where so many don't get the privilege. Each one is a mark of pride, of what I have overcome- what I continue to overcome- and show that I'm still here, will continue to be here. I want to wear my life as a badge of honour, show the world that my story is full and rich and, most importantly, not over yet.
Today, after what will be a long and busy day, I will find a quiet moment. I will pour myself a glass of fernet and coke, and I will toast the man that shaped me into the woman I am today, both with his presence and his absence. I will remember the times we shared and I will hope someone asks me about him. I will mourn a life lost and I will celebrate the strength it takes to live. I will remember all those who loved him and wish them well, whether we still speak or not. I will hug my babies extra tight and remind them that he is always with them.
I will remember, and I will live.
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