Each day I woke up early to make my husband a lunch for the day. He got out of bed, gave me a kiss on the cheek and hugged our infant child, and then took care of the farm for the majority of the day. I typically rushed to help him, but I always felt a bit fumbly and headed back in to take care of our baby. I wasn't sure when my life had become such a rut.
It was Autumn 28. I was hoping that Kevin would stay in that day. It was starting to get much, much colder, and the next day was the first of Winter. I tried to stop him before he left. He simply smiled at me, his eyes worn, and said he had to harvest the crops for the family. I just wanted to spend one day with him.
The baby was sick that day; therefore I didn't go outside to attempt and help him with the work. I have never made a bigger mistake. I never believed that he would ever leave my life—our life. But he did.
I remember pacing back and forth across the rug in front of our door; our baby was asleep in the crib as if nothing were wrong.
23:00. The digital clock on our side table flickers these numbers at me as though to taunt me. I've been waiting here much too long. I have to go find him. I make sure the baby is safe inside by locking the window and door as I step out into the coldness. The ground is lightly painted with a pre-mature snowfall. First, I check the barn and coop. Not there. Down by the beach. Not there either.
I decide to trudge on home when I glance towards the river by our cliff—and am HORRIFIED at the sight. There is my husband, face-down in the water, his pant-sleeve being tugged by a tree stump branch.
I try not to think about it anymore, I've tried to move on with my life. Our baby is a child now, his hair as blond as my own. I wish he looked more like Kevin, but he of course looks much more like me. He never knew his father, and he never will.
Kevin's life was his work, but it didn't have to be. Every day I pay the price for not showing him what was right in front of his eyes.