Better

 How can it be?

After 2 years since I held your hand, 2 years since you called me baby, 2 years since we belonged to each other, after 2 years… I love you better.

I know the mind forgets what it should.  And the heart remembers what it should.  Mine has.  I know it has.  And I love you better.

Along this walk I have peered into the man you are, the husband you were.  The gentle, the sentimental, the quirky, the murky.  Every last pound of you was made for every last inch of me.  And I love you better.

I wish that I would have loved you this much, this better, spaghettiiing in the kitchen, love-seating in the living room, computering in the office.  I didn’t know you then like I do now.  I do now.  And I love you better. 

I have tried to honor you, to share you, to keep you with me on this walk.  I have honestly relived and relived our happy marriage.  I have tried to right the wrongs, right the should-be-rights, and right the already-rights.  I have echoed I’m sorries, chanted I thank yous, and whispered I love yous.  I have held you tight.  And I am sure I love you better. 

And now, though the path is just as stretched, I’ll walk this walk of a widow, more stable, more able.  I’ll always envision you, always cherish you, always keep you with me.  Because I love you better. 

“I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”
Elizabeth Browning