He picks up her hand. Brown spots cover the once smooth skin, and wrinkles crease between the rounded joints. Her fingernails are filed down to match her fingertip in length, and a pastel pink polish covers the tops. Her hand fits inside his like it was made to go there, and he wonders if God designed her hands for that specific purpose. It's the same hand he's held and loved for seventy years. How can he find the strength to let go?
Pressing her cool hand to his lips, he takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin he's loved since the day he met her. It's indescribable. Like sunshine and healing rain mixed together. Life and renewal. All things good.
He holds her hand to his forehead, bowing his head to show his love. His arm has gone numb before he slowly lowers it to place her hand on top of the other that lies at her waist. It's final resting place.
Memories crowd his mind. Each one shouting for his attention. But he pushes them back and focuses on his wife's face.
Even though she's pale and much older than when he first saw her, he can't remember a time she looked more at peace. Her closed eyes and relaxed facial muscles gives her a look of wisdom that only age can bring. Her eyes have witnessed miracles. Her lips have kissed the cheeks of beloved children. Her mouth has spoken words of love and compassion. And her arms have given warm hugs to heal a broken heart. Her ears have heard countless stories of love, life, and redemption. Her shoulders have borne the weight of a daughter, sister, wife, lover, friend, neighbor, aunt, mother, grandmother. So many names for such a choice woman. And everyone who has known her by those names have been richly blessed.
His eyes fill with tears as he glances down at her wedding band. Gold is wrapped around her finger, proclaiming their commitment to each other. But it was a commitment she kept inside her heart as well. He's the luckiest man, to have won the heart of nobility. A heart he will never be able to lie his head down on her chest and hear again.
Her body looks smaller, more frail, without her spirit inside. Even though she was petite, she was a giant of a woman. The hole she leaves can never be filled. How could it?
He can't bring himself to leave her side, even as the time comes for the mortician to take her body and prepare it for burial. How can he leave her, when she stood faithfully by his side?
A sharp pain stabs his chest. He wonders if he's dying too. In some ways, he wishes he could, for then the separation would be over. But he knows she would never allow him to join her if he just gave up. So he bows his head and gives her one last kiss on her lifeless lips, then steps away.
As the bag closes over her head, the memories can't be held back any longer. He falls to his knees. The agony of her loss being too much for his aged body to bear. Tears of love and loss find their way down his cheeks and into his mouth. They taste salty, nothing like the sweet life that's just been taken from him.
The funeral day comes. Passing in a blur, he finds himself in the cemetery, at the side of a casket not nearly beautiful enough to encapsulate the woman inside. As he places his palm upon the wooden exterior, warmth spreads across his hand and up his arm. It's as if she's saying goodbye with the warmth she radiated. He wishes he could open the lid one last time and say goodbye.
The promise of being together forever has always brought peace to his mind. And he relies heavily upon that promise as he eases his hand away. The emptiness of the air is a shock that brings more tears. Even though his hand is empty now, he prays it will be filled again. Someday soon. And he hopes he will be worthy of the honor of being with his cherished wife in the next life, for he feels he was never good enough for her in this life. How could he be, when he was just a man, and she, an angel?
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