Legacy of Testament

My ex-wife, Sarah, and me lived in a small village in Texas. However, one day after an argument, she decided to leave home. After saying goodbye, she walked hesitantly towards the door. She turned around and shouted at me: “Don’t worry; I will come back to call on you every summer”. It would not have sounded louder with an amplifying system. By that time, the consolidated curses we dedicated one another had attracted the attention of the neighbourhood. I presumed that this last argument was heard by millions, once again. She finally had difficulty taking her suitcases out and left slamming the door behind her. I walked from the main entrance to the wrought-iron gate and that was the last time I saw her. She plainly liked to do that. Making me suffer was her best passtime. She was a beauty, a genius, and, incidentally, a heartbreaker. Would you please attempt to realize in what an unlucky and ill-fated state she left me?

This incident somewhat influenced my actions in my later life, since I never married again. I lost my babe, had to learn to cook that very day and had to pay the taxi for her, all in all, I had a bad day. “If necessary call me when you find trouble getting the washing machine started”, said she very cynically. There are times, admittedly, when the utter stupidity of this young human race leaves me wishing for rude awakenings. I leant out in case the dust raised by the taxi was somewhere to be seen. In my desperation, I jumped from the window and run a mile knowing full well that It would lead me nowhere. They had travelled a long way. If at some point I had reached the taxi, so that, as a result, I could have last begged her to stay. I was opposed by the road, or rather by destiny. I greatly believed in destiny, nevertheless, I have consitently opposed my destiny all of my life. I had to come back to an empty house and face many problems we left unresolved. First, we had to take our cat to the vet. Second, we had to finish decorating our house. Third, we had to get our garage painted. In the middle of the road, a little closer to her and never so far away, I saw that she had gone forever, therefore, I came back home. She had got away because “she was fed up with me” ; Wasn’t I fed up with her by any chance and I didn’t stop loving her with all my heart? Have you already seen the mistake you have made, Sarah? I reckon that if she ever did, her pride stopped her from going on. On the sandy road I glanced at the tracks left by the taxi very lovingly. It would be the last thing I would see from her for a long time, longer than I expected. Intentionally I said nothing to anybody about our breaking-off. I acted as casual as I could and as if she was on her holidays. I didn’t enjoy life in the least after her departure. Life was one of so many heartaches surroundig me. There cannot be the slightest doubt, I rate life equally right now; as it continues to prove to me to be as insipid as it was then. Deep down in my heart, I kind of liked to believe we would meet up someday; however, I have to admit that I almost resigned. It is not a long time that I learnt she had died of cancer. I expected to be happy but instead I felt miserable. I rushed to the porch: It was cold, though the sun was shining: but immediately, I was obliged to stop to catch my breath. Was I angry to her yet? Sarah had lived in New York Mills for 8 years when cancer and death forced her to move home in a far and cold town. I had so many times wished Sarah to pass away if she wasn’t meant to me. I persuaded myself that it wasn’t my fault and somehow those thoughts deserted me. Rightly, I consulted my conscience, and I got the only answer “you are YOUR own murderer”. I am strictly out of order in having faith at this point because I already know that there is no room for any expectation. Last December I had also moved home and the New York Mills cemetery was two hours far by car; so, I was there for a short while, everyday, as so in January. Architecturally, the graveyard was a magnificent place, but pain didn’t allow me to sense the pacific beauty of the cemetery constuctions, for instance, the mausoleums. As far beautiful graveyards are concerned they have obviously made a popular decision; but with respect to the tombstone I express dissatisfaction. I still haven’t spoken to Sarah, but to that impersonal message from her gravestone. I hate this above all (conjunct, listing, additive, reinforcing) that I have said before because it means she’s gone for good without telling goodbye except some sad words on a tombstone. She influenced me by her example and I didn’t say a word to Sarah, or rather her earthy memory. I couldn’t accept her death completely but I could accept it to some extent. This time I told several friends about her death or better several people that I thought were friends. They didn’t ever believe that she existed because I had hardly talked about her. I spent 3 hours, every day in my cemetery’s trips but in the meantime the people about me started to think that I had gone insane. They can’t understand me yet because they are only trying to see it their way. They don’t get the meaning of my feelings at all. Still, their help is very valuable for me. They scarcely know who she was. Part of me is buried in the wet, cold ground, so are my hopes, heart and soul. But she is gone and briefly, there is nothing more I can do about it.