Every day at 5:30pm, I would wait for the telephone to ring, my husband on the other end. We would share little things that happened throughout our days. Shawn tells me of his travels, what he saw, the crazy drivers, what type of load he was carrying, his next stop. I tell him about the children, funny things they did, my attempts at trying to keep the house in order, what we were eating for dinner. It was all small talk with each of us saying a number of times, “I love You”.
Every week, he comes back home on Fridays, sometimes in the middle of the night. It was so delightful to feel his cold body next to mine. “Kirsten”, he would say, “I love you”. Weekend time was nice, crazy and unfamiliar to most people. Catching up on bills, special purchases and decisions that needed to be made together. Sunday evening was a passionate time, knowing that Monday morning, Shawn would be back to work and back in his truck going across the country, not to be seen for another five days.
Single parenting, while married, has its challenges. My children are easy, Karolyn, age 4, a red head bundle of activity. At two years old, she spoke with an advanced vocabulary. Karter, 18 months, and “all boy” pretty much sums up his behavior. He studies his toys, his surroundings and finds new ways to meander through them. The little pony that has sounds and can be ridden is only fun for Karter when the horse is tipped over and crawling through and over.
“Was” is a big word in my vocabulary. Everything seems to be was. The phone calls-was. Making love, being married, children having a father, all was.
Then one Friday night, the phone did not ring. My heart sank. There could be so many reasons that he did not call, but none of them calmed me. The call that finally did come was a call that made my heart ache, with tears flowing for days as I tried to explain away the mystery. Each day had its own set of obstacles as I dealt with the details of death.
Shawn was dead. He died in his truck from carbon monoxide poisoning. Gone. Never to be seen again. No more 5:30 pm phone calls. No more sharing my heart with someone I knew cared about all the little details of my life.
The struggles of life as a widow at the age of 24 can be staggering. People stare when they learn, friends do not know what to say, and family attempts at love don’t compare to the love of a man and woman.
It has been one year. My children continue to grow into who they are. I have found a church, a community, and friends that are willing to walk with me on this journey of life. Adult conversation is my most treasured conversation. So much of life still seems distant and unattainable. Patience and perseverance are my two daily reminders.
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