by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 It’s Valentines Day. The day for hearts, flowers, chocolates, cards, dinner dates and love. For the first time in my life my Valentine isn’t here. Mike made a big deal of celebration. In all the years of our marriage he never once forgot our anniversary, birthdays, Valentines or other special days. It was important for him to mark milestone events in time. Today he won’t be doing so. Not here. Not with me. I always knew where Mike was. He was religious about calling or texting to let me know if his plans changed or he was running late. He never stood me up or left me hanging. Never! Now I don’t know exactly where he is or what he’s doing. He’s gone to Heaven, a place I know is real, but am yet to see or understand, and all communication between us has abruptly ended. My husband can’t call. He can’t text. He can’t send me a card. Or a kiss. The evening he died I was at the grocery store and because Mike and I shared a love for the beauty of plants and flowers, when I saw these roses, snapped a picture on my iPhone and sent it to him. He never responded. My man, who was obsessive about responding to texts and phone calls immediately, was already gone at this point. That’s what the EMT’s who arrived an hour later, told me. I found my unanswered text on his phone a few days later. It seems the very last thing I did as he died, was send him flowers. So today to honor the memory of the one who would normally bring me flowers, I share these. I hope whatever he’s doing off in Eternity, it is an experience of love far beyond any I could ever give him here. I hope he is seeing flowers far more incredible than any we ever admired together. I pray Jesus reminds him it is an Earth day of celebrating love and hands him a perfect, deep orange rose. “This is from Diane. She wants you to know she will always love you. Happy Valentine’s Day.” .
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
I  write this on a flight to Chattanooga, Tennessee, to celebrate my son’s first published book release. He’s hosting a book launch party this weekend. It seems to be a thing authors do now and it’s a rather big deal. David’s father would have been excited to attend this event. My husband should be here next to me. But the seat is as empty as the gapping hole in my heart. We often went places without each other. I’d go and Mike would stay home with Jon or the reverse. Though we didn’t always enjoy our necessary separations, we accepted it as how things had to be. And I always knew he’d be waiting for me when I returned. This flight feels different than any I’ve taken before. I’m surrounded by people, crammed together inside an Allegiant MD80, yet it’s so lonely. As the miles are absorbed beneath me and the land slides away, the one person on this planet, who knew me better than anyone, who made history and a life with me is missing. I could fly all the way around the circle of the earth in this plane, and not find him. My husband won’t be there when I go back home. I’m flying solo now. For those who say “He’s still with you,” or “He’s watching over you, I say “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” There’s no scriptural basis I can find for that. If he is watching me all the time he’s sad at how heartbroken I am without him. There’s not supposed to be any sadness or heartache in Heaven. So I have my doubts. And right now it’s not enough to think he might be watching me from wherever he is. It’s just not enough for me. I can’t see, hear or touch him. I can talk to the air and tell him how proud we are of our kid’s accomplishments but Mike isn’t here with me to share in it. He doesn’t answer. All I get in return is silence. Saying he’s with me doesn’t help. It doesn’t make me feel better. In fact, hearing that he’s watching from somewhere I’m not, makes it worse. Only a reminder Mike’s physical presence is sorely missing from mine. Maybe I’ll be more accepting of such platitudes later. In a year. Or two. Or three. But not now. So Mike, if by some chance you are listening and if you can see, I’ve arrived now and I’m holding a copy of our son’s book in my hands. It’s amazing. So is he. Just like his father. And it’s cold in Chattanooga. You’d be complaining right along with me. Wish we could lay here together under this fluffy, warm comforter and talk about it all. Just want you to know this weekend, you’ll sure be missed at this celebration of what we, and then our son, created.
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