Does deep love ever die?

The old woman sat facing a window and stared vacantly at the patterns made by raindrops upon the glass.  Tears oozed from the corners of her eyes and found their way into creases and dribbled in rivulets over her cheeks.  She could see the faint reflection of her image in the glass and the rain became tears and the tears became rain.  It was if heaven itself shared her immense grief.  In thirty years the longing had not diminished and now it was only a matter of time and she would die too and with her, all the memories.  For all those years she had lived her life for others – her friends, her children and her grandchildren.  In all this time her precious memories were her constant companions but she never shared them.  Who would understand?  She looked forward to death, waited for it daily and each day wept in secret for the love she lost.  He had died years before but she had not been at his side to hold him as he slipped away into oblivion.  By mutual agreement they had parted years before. She could not bear to stand by and watch him destroy himself any longer and as much as he adored her, he could not bear to bring her down with him. He had finally conceded defeat after years of struggle and resignedly accepted his fate, living out his last few years like an old hermit, almost constantly in a dazed stupor.  Alcohol was his demon and he no longer had the will or the desire to fight it.  His last words to her before they parted had been loving, tender words.  He had held her and whispered 'I love you.' over and over into her soft hair.  She knew their life together was over but clung to those last few minutes of togetherness, drawing so deeply upon those words and his familiar mellifluous voice, absorbing it all so that she would never forget.  Whenever the agony became too much she would let her mind go back to that moment and remember.  It gave her comfort as much as it prevented her from ever being able to heal from the deep inner wound.  

As the sun finally sliced its way through cloud and reached out in sparkling golden shafts of light to luminate the verdant landscape, her eyes dropped to her hands clasped in her lap.  She twisted the ring on her finger and felt the strange twist in her heart once more. 
"Please wear it my angel girl," he said "and whenever you think of me touch it and I will be with you in spirit."  The ring, incongruous on her hand because it was his ring and had to be made smaller to fit her finger, had never been taken off.  She made a daily ritual of twisting it and gazing at the intricate patterns upon it.  It was as if this was the switch to her memories and by touching the ring she entered the gateway to their 'bubble world', the world they had once enjoyed as though they were children in their own private universe.  She heard his spontaneous laughter at her slips of tongue and his teasing tone when he was in one of his mischievous moods.  He was a terrible rogue but there was no mistaking the love he felt for her.  It was a love that bound them so closely they felt that they were truly one person in two parts.  Neither of them could hide their feelings from the other.  He had only to hear two words from her to know exactly what kind of day she was having.  She always seemed to intuitively know when he was in trouble.  Although their time together had been filled with heartache and pain, it was that incredible love that sustained her for the many lonely years beyond their tearful parting.  She never remembered the angry hurtful words because they had disappeared like vapour in bright sunlight. 

The loving words, the passionate words and those tender moments were all that remained…

(to be continued)