Keeping Watch

    I watch Ariel slowly walk down the hill. Her sadness shows.
    Grief hasn't released her heart. I thought by now she would be free of it.
    I was wrong.

    My woman. My wife.
    I have no way to ease her pain.

    She tells me she wants to dream of having my arms around her. I wish I could be in her dreams each night, holding her close, to ease her heart.
    I know she is lonely. She's been visiting me twice a day the past few weeks, says she needs the peace God gives her while she is sitting by my grave.

    Before my death, I told her not to be alone, to find someone to be with. She laughed, said the list was short -- Tom Selleck and Sam Elliott. I know there are men who would be good to her. She has told me of a couple of dates; she says the guys are nice but they're not me. That they always come up short in comparison.
    She says she doesn't understand people who have remarried a year or so after their spouse died, sometimes sooner. Wonders if love was really there between them, how they could turn their backs on a love that was true, if they even cared enough to say good-bye.

    I know Ariel understands death, that we will never be together again on this earthly plane. I know she mourns me, no matter where she may be.
    I wish I could tell her how to say good-bye, how to step into a future without me. But I don't think she wants to try, maybe doesn't really care.

    All I can do is watch her quietly become more alone.