I’ve been dreading this day, since the day you died. That very evening its cruel chime reminding me you weren’t coming home. I knew it was inevitable, but shooed the thought away like a fly on my drink each time it crossed my mind. Like living without you, I couldn’t bear the thought. And now three years later, it’s happenend. It’s like losing you again. The time we shared has literally stopped…
I gave it to you for your birthday. You were always hard on watches and I wanted to give you one that would last. I never dreamt it would outlast you. It’s nothing fancy, that was never your style. It’s bold, has multiple-functions, and a big smiling face, just like you. We laughed at the model name, ‘Iron Man’ – it must be a sign. You said the blue ring around the face matched our commitment rings, and my eyes, and that’s how you knew this one was meant for you.
It still has sauce on the crystal from your favorite BBQ place where we celebrated your birthday for the last time a mere few weeks before your life time ran out.
You wore it everyday until the band broke, and then you kept it in your pocket, or next to you on the table at home. I tried to replace it several times but you said that it had marked too many good times between us to be discarded, and that you were still counting the minutes with me on it. It never ceased to surprise me how you could make an ordinary moment extraordinary, with simple words and deep emotion.
And now it has stopped. No more chiming on the hour, or alarming at 11:45 for reasons unknown to me. It will never again remind me you are no longer here, or comfort me with assurance you are near. I know I could put another battery in the silly thing, but I’m not sure how many times I can take the reminder that you have left me to move through my time alone. I guess I’ll just let it stay on my nightstand for as long as I feel I need to. And I’ll get used to the absence of the rotation of the hands that reminded me of the arms that used to hold me, as time marches me on without you.