Hesitate (big boy pants)

A few weeks ago, I published a Reflection entitled Decades. The reflection highlighted a very sensitive and deeply personal struggle regarding my feelings of being alone for the remainder of my life.

I wrote and rewrote it a multitude of times worrying about how friends and family would receive the story. Even after completing it, I went back numerous times to tweak my word choices or delete portions that I hesitated to expose to everyone.

In Decades, I floated the idea that maybe, just maybe, I might be open to the possibility of companionship if life provided me that opportunity. I doubt I would ever actively seek it, but if it happened by chance to find me, I’ve decided I wouldn’t close myself to the possibility.

None of us know the number of our remaining days. If I knew my number was small, the decision would be an easy one for me. I especially would never want to burden anyone with my care as I age, except of course my children (wink, wink).

Normally, Claire vets my stories to ensure I don’t divulge too many personal details that I might regret later. For Decades, I also asked Morgan, and Carson to read the story before publication to ascertain their feelings. None of them had any objections, but even then, I was reluctant to publish it.

Whenever there was an unpleasant task I avoided and would hesitate to get done, Amy would chastise me and tell me to put on my “big boy pants.” She was never one to prolong an unpleasant task and she always encouraged me to do the same.

More than a few tears have been shed as I struggle with publishing this Reflection. I love Amy with my entire heart and soul. My fear in revealing my feelings is that friends and family will doubt the depth and sincerity of my love for her. That thought causes me almost unbearable pain. I would never want anyone to ever, ever doubt that. She is, and will always be, the Love of My Life.

12,729 days have elapsed since I first put on my wedding ring on that wonderful December afternoon. Today, I removed it from my finger and lovingly placed it next to Amy’s.

I will likely pull them back out for special occasions or when I am missing her the most. But as I type these words, my finger (like my soul) is bare.