~ Burying A Husband ~

I saw this picture on the news today:


It is Lt. Walsh’s wife.  He died in the Boston fire a few days ago that claimed the lives of two firefighters.  This picture was snapped of her as she watched them load his casket onto the fire engine’s hose bed.

I couldn’t stop looking at it.  What am I seeing?

Is it pure grief?

Is it shock?

Is it fear?

Is it pride?

No one but her will ever know.  We could only imagine.  But I do know one thing for absolute sure…..

I don’t ever want to be where she is.

I don’t want to be the hero’s widow.  I don’t want to be the one left behind to grieve.

I have no say in it, obviously.  My Captain is who he is.  He has put his own life at risk for the past three decades, in the service of strangers, thousands upon thousands of times.  He did it before he knew me, he does it now, and he’ll probably do it after he retires – if he lives that long.

None of that changes the fact that I don’t want to be the one left here to suffer alone.  If there is going to be any suffering going on in this marriage, we’ll do it together.

Wait…..that came out wrong.

You know what I mean!

God bless you, Mrs. Walsh.  You, and your husband.

And thank you.

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