One Perfect Memory

By Anna B

I read a story once, a long time ago, about one man's perfect memory. I wish I could remember who wrote it, but I don't. I read it to him and he smiled at me and said we would many memories to share and I believed him. I always did.

Now I stand here and I search my mind for one of those perfect memories to hold onto. That one moment that will help me get over the pain of loosing him. It's so quiet here on this bluff looking over the bay. He asked me not to cry for him and I promised him I wouldn't, but I'm not so sure I can keep that promise. It isn't really fair that he is gone. He was so good and decent and he should have been able to beat the cancer that took him away from me. He always won, he was always the good guy. It's ironic that the one enemy he couldn't vanquish came from within himself.

I remember the day he told me he loved me like it was yesterday, but it isn't a perfect memory and I can't I say I cherish it. I can see his face as he asked me to be his wife, but that too was marred by the work we shared. Our wedding day? Nope, that wasn't perfect by a long shot. Rushed and secretive, but not perfect.

Did we have one perfect memory, one moment in time I'd like to put on a bottle on a shelf and take out and savor during those lonely nights? My eyes drift shut as I listen to the sounds of the ocean. He loved to sail, did we have our perfect moment on the water?

We raised our children to be good and decent and I'd like to think we succeeded. Were the children our perfect moments? A smile forms on my face at the thought. After surviving teenagers how could I ever think that.

We grew old together just like he said we would, just not old enough. We watched our children marry and have families of their own. Grandchildren, were their births our perfect moment? Not really, I think, remembering the tense moments ticking by when our first grandchild was born three months early.

We always felt blessed to have each other. Three days ago I stopped feeling so blessed. Our golden years were cut short and marred by the sickenss that took his life. Was it possible we had no perfect moments to savor?

I pulled my collar tighter around my neck as the breeze off the bay turned cold. One perfect memory. How was it possible I can't find one perfect moment in our lifetime together? Why is it when I need that memory most I can't seem to find it? Perhaps there is no such thing.

"Mom?" I turn at the sound my oldest son's voice, he is walking toward me, "Are you ready to go Mom?"

"In a minute." I reply.

The children tell me they will wait near the car and after watching them walk away I turn back to the fresh grave with the newly carved head stone. Husband, Father and Friend. I touch my hand to the cold marble and whisper a goodbye.

As I walk away, I remember all the times we laughed and all the times we cried and all the frustration and joy we shared and then I know. Each memory of Lee is a perfect memory.

The End.