Sharon has left me. She is no longer breathing. I’ve countedthe spaces between each breath for a long time; one, two, three…The next hour or so I count to 30 breaths, then 40 breaths, then 50 breaths, then 60. Andy was right next to me when I got to 60, and then Sharon stopped breathing. She stopped.

From that moment on, I have been Empty, totally Empty. It isn’t Sharon’s fault that I feel this way, but it is a fact. I do, and That is That. I have felt this way since the moment I counted to 60. 

What does Empty mean? I’m not sure. Perhaps an inability to feel anything, to feel joy, or good, or sad, or happy. It is if I am on a level plane, not going up, not going down. I am just going. I don’t feel.

Others seem to notice. They say: “I can’t tell what you are feeling, or if your feeling.” Or: “I can never tell if you are happy or not.” And they are right; I can’t tell either.

People say: “One step at a time.” Or: “Go day by day.” Or: “This is a process. You will get through it.” Or: “You need to give yourself time. At least a year. Maybe two.” 

But I don’t think it is a process because a process is a stream of events that change. A process is something one goes through. But Sharon’s passing is not a process; it is not something I will get through. I will not get to another side.

Sharon and I had picked out the places we wanted to be buried, one at Trinity by the Cove and one on Lake Winnipesaukee. At Trinity by the Cove we picked two small plots right next to each other. On Lake Winnipesaukee Sharon wanted to have our ashes mingled and then thrown into the Lake where I proposed to her. I didn’t like that idea because that is where the lake is deepest and coldest. I preferred a spot near the house, perhaps in the water near the beach, perhaps under a tree. But Sharon insisted and I finally, reluctantly, agreed. We would go into the lake; water temperature be damned. 

At her funeral at Trinity by the Cove, the Father Caccese poured half of Sharon’s ashes into the ground, and then asked if there were others who wanted to do the same. Her daughter and son chose to do that. I did not. I did not because by doing that, I would be saying “good bye” to her and that was something I would never, ever, do. “We will be together forever, my dear,” is what I said to Sharon every night, and we will. And I Believe that.

After the ashes were poured and Sharon’s family gone, Elijah turned to me and cried in my arms. He cried and cried and cried. I will never forget that moment. How lucky to have a Grandson like Elijah, how very lucky.

And here is what I think Belief means. It does not make any difference whether a proposition one is considering is True or False, such as whether there is an afterlife or not, or a place we go to when we die or not. What matters is what you Believe (Don’t say: What you believe is True or Not True). Belief is not a function of Fact. Belief is a function of our Spirit, of what we Feel. Belief is in our Emotions, not our Head. It’s in our Soul, not our Body. It’s in our Heart, not our Mind.

Sharon and I were married. What does that mean? Marriage is not about two people being two people, nor is it about two people being one. It is about one whole person, each one half that together make one Whole. That is our Sole mate. That is our Sole mate. It means that without the Other you will never be Whole. You will never be yourself, at least in Life. 

So the marriage vows that end with: “Until death do us part” is not  something that I Believe, because I do not Believer that we will ever Part. Ever.