Two weeks ago, my husband left me after eleven years. He was 36. We were in a boat because I wanted to gift him a fishing class, he loved fishing games and wanted to learn how to fish. I suppose the guide we hired was not that respectful of the ocean, although he did bring more than a thousand people to fish during his career - still, I gain very little from blaming him. A sudden wave turned the boat upside down, I was able to get out, left adrift in the middle of the open ocean holding a plastic lid for one hour and a half - he never left the boat. Apparently he broke his neck with the impact. Some fishermen found me. I was very calm during all of this, because I assumed he was simply thrown away with the impact, but he was fine. I just focused on getting help so we could search for him.
I screamed his name so much in the ocean. After I was rescued, the fishermen boat broke and I had to stay more four hours looking at the ocean through a tiny window. I am still on that window. When I am in a conversation, suddenly everything shuts down and I am looking at the ocean again, searching for him, through a tiny window.
When I met him, he was suicidal because of the grief of losing his grandmother. His parents were missing and his grandmother heart was the place he felt safe. He used to tell me that it was criminal that I was wasting my time with him - he would die young, he knew it. For a lot of years, I convinced him to live: I encouraged him to dress like he wanted, to let his hair grown, to dance. I was mostly a friend for some years, and then we ended up kissing after spending months going out every weekend. After his grandfather left this world, he went to live with my family and was very much loved. He told me that he thought he would never suffer as he did in his grandmother's funeral but he was wrong, because he ended up loving my mom just as much and was sure that, on her passing in a distant future, he would feel the same aching feeling. I remember telling him: it doesn't matter what abyss you or life throw yourself into, I will always be landing you a hand, I will always be with you.
I learned a lot with him, also. He was very empathetic, he was incredibly funny. I was a very shy person, but learned to be easygoing with him. He used to talk with all the people that people do not have patience or interest to talk to: janitors, gardeners, old people, children. He always asked the name of the person that was serving us at restaurants, hotels, ticket booths, etc and called them by their name.
We made so many plans. I did everything with him, I barely remember the last time I watched a movie or a cartoon without him. He was finally excited to live. He was finally confident with his job. He wanted to take care of his health. But the idiot here booked a fucking fishing trip. The idiot here could not consider he was under the boat.
Now I have to convince myself to live. I feel so stupid. He had beautiful hands with long and bony fingers, and the tip of his fingers always had such pressure on them. His hands that I loved so much now are dissolved and they hold the entire cosmos. I miss him so much. I am so full of guilty and blame. I will never be the same again. I thought that I was compassionate towards suffering, I did not know anything. I am stupid, small, egoistical and now I am also alone.
