Why Did You Do It?
A Memoir by David H. Werrett
I was hiding in a muddy ditch, the run-off water from the war-torn landscape surrounding me was pouring over the top of my boots. I felt the cold water running down my legs around my ankles, filling the void between my feet, my socks, and the worn leather boots, one of the few possessions I had: boots, the clothing on my back, and what was left of my self-esteem. The only things remaining from the long love affair with my beloved.
A line of enemy soldiers was walking slowly on the road above me. I stayed deathly quiet hoping not to be discovered. To the solders, marching the road in the twilight, I would be seen as one of the many corpses rolled off the road, shot so they wouldn’t interfere with the flow of the war machinery and troops moving to establish a new battle front. Some of my comrades rolled into the ditch were still alive, groaning from mortal wounds, not a threat to the enemy anymore. I was one of them, but alive enough to be a threat.
One of the soldiers looked my way, something about how my body was positioned attracted her attention. She broke ranks; drawing her pistol, she walked directly to me and stood over me. From my chest down position, I straightened and defiantly confronted her.
This was a take-no-prisoners war, no Geneva conventions, no rules, just unmitigated hate for another human being. Humanity was now God-less.
She calmly raised her pistol, cocked the hammer, aimed directly at my forehead and fired.
Her pistol discharges: An awful blast ensued in front of me, causing the bones in my face to vibrate and my teeth to chatter.
Ha, you missed me, I thought, my body propelled backward into the ditch already dead from the wound.
I must have shifted in my sleep because my dream also changed course: They say the body takes an average of eight minutes to die after the last breath. I always wanted to find that answer and what it was like to die. No one came back from the dead to let me know. Now, I have the answer. It would be good if I could tell others what dying was like, that would be my contribution to the ultimate knowledge of the Universe. I had obviously committed suicide by gun-shot. I thought about it: I could have used the meds, or cut my arteries, I know how to cut, a remnant from my former life.
Angel nudged my dream-state: “Well, it’s done now. You have left those who love you to grieve and sort it out, which is the downside that we spoke of many times.” My Angel was very distressed over my sudden decision to let go.
“Angel, I didn’t want to give you, or anyone time to interfere with my plans. If I was going to go, it had to be quick. I simply had to join my beloved in the Universe. The longer I waited, the more difficult it would become to catch up with her.”
My poor Angel, after all those years waiting to help me cross the Vail, I didn’t give her time to show me an alternative.
“I can fix this and make it just a bad dream.”
With Angel’s words, I awoke with a start.
“What am I doing?” I cried out to no one. Angel rapidly retreated back into my subconscious.
Peg is gone and I can’t get her back. I want to join her on her journey into the Universe, I want to be with her. These are my thoughts and the content of many dreams about taking my life. However, I cannot bring her back; taking my own life to be with her would rule out any possibility of my writing about her passing.
Two months ago, Peg passed into the Universe and began her new Journey. Instead of a physical being, she is now comprised of pure energy, which contains the very essence of her soul.
The date of her passing, Oct 5th 2020, will never leave my memory. Now when I know the 5th of each month is coming, I automatically slip into the condition of grieving for her. My grief causes adrenalin and cortisol to flood my body. Both hormones are designed to protect my physical body from danger. Contrary to their purpose, the hormones wreak havoc with my physical health.
Widower, a condition not exactly similar to widowhood. It is the difference between men and women and must be treated as so. I hope my explanation of my journey into being a widower will enlighten many, especially men, who find themselves in my position.
We had been married for fifty-two years. She was the love of my life, and now I am without her trying to make sense of what my new life will be like.
In the room where I write, every day I look out the window and see a doe walking by – it seems the little doe appears at the times I need reassurance.
Writing is the most important thing I can do to preserve my loved one’s memory and to keep my sanity. Nevertheless, I have entered a new world of voluntary insanity, magical and irrational thinking, that if it weren’t for being a grieving widower, I might be committed.
I have a habit of going out of the house most nights, just before darkness covers me with the peaceful still of the night. The quiet of the night is my time to communicate with the Universe. Now I also communicate with her soul, sometimes in the form of that doe.
I talk to the doe out loud just as I would if my loved one was still living. My loved one is now living in a new form, one of the wonders of the Universe. The doe stays quite still and looks directly at me. I receive my answers in the form of a mysterious telepathy that only lovers in a long-term relationship understand; a feeling, in place of an actual conversation or simply a poignant glance.
The Universe now supplies me with many opportunities to communicate with Peg’s soul. The doe is one example, other animals, found objects from our past, even changes in the weather allow me to remain in contact with her.
Now she is gone, her soul is everywhere around me, I only need to take a break from my grieving to receive her communications. It is true I will no longer be able to possess her physically, greatly adding to my distress at her passing. My ability to communicate with her soul is still as strong as it ever was when she was physically living; we would sit quietly in each other’s presence and know intuitively what was on the other person’s mind.
I offer my story of Peg’s passing into the Universe and my journey to find my way after her death, in the hopes you will see some parallels to comfort you on your journey surviving the loss of your loved one.
David H. [d. h.] Werrett, a former professional pilot and businessman, successfully incorporates both skills in his writing, but with quirky twists. David has self-published two fiction adventure novels, Abort! Abort! and Secrets Part One. His third book, A Puzzle, is a collection of David’s short stories and poetry. All are available on Amazon. David has this to say about his writing career, “As a young child I was always conjuring up stories and filling them with colorful characters, sharing them with anyone who would listen. Since then, I’ve progressed quite a bit to formulating longer and more complex stories and sharing them with much larger audiences. As a professional storyteller, I’m adept at using my imaginative and creative flair to bring my stories to life in engaging and entertaining ways.” Visit Dave Werrett, http://www.angelchroniclestories.com/ and http://www.dhwerrett.com/