I Swear You Will Be Fine

Last year, I read a post online about how when you’re in a healthy and happy relationship, your biggest fear becomes your significant other dying. I fully agreed with the post when I read it and sent it to you. I told you how I’m not scared of you getting mad at me, I’m not afraid that you’ll cheat, my only fear is that you’ll die. And when you read the post, you also fully agreed with it.

Moments later, we were waiting to cross the road on our nightly walk home when I told you how scared I am that we won’t work out – not that either one of us would be unfaithful or that we’d break up, but that you’ll die. I’ve had this fear since we got together because of how great our relationship is. I made you promise me to always be as safe as you can be. I made you promise me to look both ways before crossing the road, to watch where you’re walking, wear a seatbelt on car rides… You laughed and thought I was being overdramatic and that my fear was unwarranted, but you still promised me anyway because that’s the boyfriend you are. You’d do anything to appease me, even if I was being irrational. You then made me promise you the exact same thing, because you said I couldn’t die on you, we had forever more to go. I very readily promised you, mentally frolicking with glee thinking, “Yay! He wants to spend forever with me!” It was like a profession of love, really. “I love you so much I can’t imagine life without you, so I want you to be as safe and healthy as you can be and live as long as you can with me.” Maybe that’s also why you customized a workout routine for me and got me to eat healthily. I can actually quote you on this. You said, “I can’t have my wife getting a heart attack from Macca’s at 30.” All I heard when you said that was “Yay! He wants to make me his wife!” (cue the mental frolics and giggles).

A while later, we suddenly got into the discussion of who should go first. We didn’t talk a lot about death and dying, but whenever we did, we meant dying when we were old. I said I’d want to go first, because I don’t think I could stand losing you. And you immediately said you’d want to go first for the exact same reason. I eventually gave in and said, “Fine… you can go first, but only when we are super old and wrinkly and I will come right after you.” This was another profession of love. One said, “I love you so much I can’t bear to live without you.” And the other said, “I love you so much I’d carry the pain of losing you, so you don’t have to.”

Now that my biggest and only fear has come true, I think I am no longer afraid of anything. What’s the worst that could happen? Sometimes I wonder how it would have been if the roles were reversed. How would it have been for you if I had died instead? Then I feel selfish because how could I leave you with this degree of anguish? It would break my heart if I had gone first and you were left with this insurmountable weight of grief. I know if you had the choice, you wouldn’t have wanted to leave too. You would do anything but intentionally hurt the ones you love. At times, this thought keeps me going: I wouldn’t want you to go through this, so I’m going through it for you. It’s like we agreed – you’d go first, and I’ll take the pain for you so you wouldn’t have to. This grief is my profession of love to you.

I know this wasn’t the ending you wanted, and it is definitely not the one I desired too. The way I see it, every day that I wake up and choose to keep going in your honor is a profession of love. I am saying, “Life is so difficult without you, but I will go through it to accomplish everything we said we would because of how much I love you. And when I see you again, you’ll be ever so proud of me.” That thought is enough to help me endure this.

Can’t wait to eventually see you again and live all our lives together. I love you more, always, and forever.

Love always,
Sha