The cheap alarm clock in the bathroom articulates tick-tock-tick-tock every second. It's an annoying sound. It reminds me of time lapse. It reminds me of the infiniteness of time. It reminds me of my husband's death. Actually, that's not true. It doesn't remind me of Eric's death. To remind implies a stage of forgetting. I don't need anything or anyone to remind me of my husband, but the tick-tock in the stillness of the night brings his image, all images, forward.
The tick-tock exacerbates everything.
The tick-tock replays our chapters. Human memories suck. We remember events as we choose to remember them, not necessarily the ways they actually happened. The tick-tock replays the years of incomprehensible agony my husband endured. It reminds me of all the disagreements we have had through the years, yet he never, ever, raised his voice at me. That he would never engage in a fight but approached every conflict in the most - I kid you not - annoyingly rational discussion… The tick-tock reminds me of our most invaluable Couchsurfing experiences that led me to the most amazing people and self discoveries; it reminds me to never let fear dominates my decision. The tick-tock reminds me of Eric's moodiness, his constant needs for intellectual challenges, his passion for graceful movements; his mandate for living life fully. The tick-tock reminds me of my bossiness, my optimism, my plea to the worthless gods who turned their eyes from sufferings. The tick-tock reminds me of something extremely important: I was the best wife I knew how. I did my best. And that I couldn't have done any better.
The tick-tock also replays one of our last walks around the neighborhood, and our conversation. It reminds me how much my husband loved me, in the most unconditioned way. Not unconditional, but unconditioned; to me, it was more meaningful. The tick-tock reminds me of the Sunday afternoon preceding my husband's death. I wanted to go for a skate, but was preparing a Japanese dinner to celebrate Chinese New Year - we were a United Nation family after all. When I finally got around to it, I missed the warm sun on the skate path. Eric said, "Moral of the story: When the sun is out, drop everything, go do stuff."
The tick-tock speaks simple facts. When Eric died, he chose to remember that he had a great life with great friends. He lived his life in the moment; all-in. That my husband left no stone unturned to get well, or get better. That I, his wife, was one of the most precious people in his life. His wish was always for me to be happy. That he loved me, without any bounds.
The tick-tock says: I allow nobody to judge him and his death.
The tick-tock continues at 0615.
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