The X-Files: Missing You
(Spoilers: "Redux I/II" and "William")
By Damandabear 2
It wasn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to grow old with you. I had surprised you eight years ago by asking you to marry me. You never thought I would. The truth is, you are the only person I have ever wanted to marry. As I lie here on our couch, unable to sleep in our bed alone, I think back to when we were happy. I met you eighteen years ago. Eighteen years ago yesterday. Rather ironic, don't you think? Eighteen years laterto the dayyou die in my arms. We had both known it was coming. You were sick for a long time. You were sick almost a year before the cancer took you away from me for good. I remember you telling me you loved me as you slipped into your final slumber. I'm so glad that we told each other that everyday of our marriage. While I always tried to be optimistic and tell you it would go into remission again, that miracles can happen more than once, I knew you knew the truth. The truth was, there was no conspiracy behind it this time. There was no one on the other end deciding to give you one more chance. There was no Smoking Man…no syndicate…no government ulterior motives. It was just bad luck. When you first told me, eleven months ago, that it was back, I refused to believe it. You were so practical and realistic. You needed me to be the same, but I could not return it. I was in denial. Denial that, despite the ease of those previous seven years, I would lose you. Denial didn't help you get better, and now I regret that time that is forever lost. That time that I could have spent holding you…coping with you…being there for you… I will never have that time back. Once denial seeped away, I allowed depression to consume me. There you were, so strong…so brave. I should have been strong and brave with you. I should have made you happy. Instead, I only made you feel sorry for me. I wanted pity because I was losing the one thing in the entire world that I love most. You comforted me. I should have comforted you. You were losing your health. You were losing your own life. You never once wanted pity. You never once showed how sad you were or how weak you were growing. No. You took care of me. What kind of husband was I to do that to you? But people do stupid thingsthings that they later regretwhen those they love are ill. They wait until it is too late to say things. That is one thing I am glad I don't have to regret. If I can be sure about anything, I can be sure that you always knew how much you mean to me. I couldn't hold in an "I love you" if my life depended on it…if you will excuse the expression.
We never could have another child. Will was our one and only miracle. I know that once we were safe and no longer on the run you wanted another. I think about what he…or she…might have looked like. I wonder if we would have stopped at one. I lie here, tears streaming down my face, trying to decide whether I am relieved we couldn't have anymore or if I wish we could have. I feel so alone. I hold the pillow from your side of our bed in my arms. I am so careful with it. Never again do I want to wash it because sometimes I feel that it is all I have left of you. Memories aren't enough. I want more. Part of me wants to see you in the eyes of a six-year-old, running into the room. The other part of me wonders how I would explain to him…or her…why you aren't coming home from the hospital this time. I wonder how I would be able to take on your role, and I realize that I wouldn't be able to because you are irreplaceable. There are so many things that a mother needs to be around to do that a father could never do. At least I don't have to worry about that. Unfortunately, I will never have another chance for that. It is hard to breathe. Thinking about you hurts. It is more painful than anything I have ever felt before. The idea of not thinking about you terrifies me, though. So I keep trying to recall things about you. I want to remember your soft skin. Your red hair. Your blue eyes. Your succulent lips. Your sweet smell. Your adorable laugh. Your cute grin. Your array of facial expressions. Your pool of inappropriate innuendos and clever comebacks. Your flawless, beautiful body. I try hard to remember these things, as much as it hurts, so that they can forever be imprinted in my mind. These are things I never want to forget.
For the last month, I sat by your side in the hospital. And every time I would silently wish to just get it over with, I would curse myself and begin to cry. It was so hard to watch you get sicker and sicker every day that sometimes, I couldn't help it. I just wanted the pain to be over. For you. For me. Just over. Now that it has finally happened, all I can do is wish for one more day with you. I am angry at you because you don't have to feel this pain, and that makes me angry at myself because you've felt enough pain already. You deserve to finally be at peace. I just wish I could be, too. There are ways, but I don't support them. When you spend almost an entire month sitting in a silent hospital room with no one to talk to, you have plenty of time to think about death. You have plenty of timeand you think you have plenty of reasonsto plan your own. I would sit there, holding your hand as you sleep, and I would think about this day. I would try to prepare myself for what I would feel. And every time I thought I knew, I would squeeze your hand, waking you. You needed your rest, but at least when you were awake, I wouldn't think about such depressing things. Looking back, I kept you awake a lot. I didn't want to. But I needed you to comfort me.
How could I be so selfish? Instead of you telling me I would be okay, I should have been telling you that you would. I told you how beautiful you were, even when the chemo made your hair thin. You were always beautiful to me. Dark circles around your eyes. I told you they reminded me of how you looked whenever you would cry during your favorite movies. The ones that always had a sad twist in the middlewhen things couldn't possibly get worseand a happy resolution at the endwhen things couldn't be better. I told you that you were stunning, even then. Your pale skin bothered you the most. You would say that it made you look so ghostly. Like you were already dead. I never had an answer for that because that was always the moment I would have to excuse myself from the room so that you wouldn't see me crying. I don't think you knew the first time, but after that, I'm sure you did. Eventually, you just stopped talking about the things that would depress me. I should have encouraged you to share your feelings, but I didn't. I couldn't.
Eighteen years. For eighteen years, I have always been able to share my thoughts with you. I could always take my problems to you. You would give me advice. Good advice, whether I took it or not. And now that you aren't here, I have one more problem. One more thing that I need to discuss with you, so that you could give me advice. One more question.
What do I do now?