Champagne/real pain

champagne  real pain

And what to do with this?

The champagne that I’d bought to celebrate the end of treatments and Mark’s victory over cancer. Representative of failure, a moment in the grocery store and my sudden, half-assed attempt to rouse his spirits and mine, when both of us felt so beaten. It lives in the refrigerator. Undrinkable now (barely drinkable then) but even if it goes down the drain, what to do with the bottle? Tossing it in the bin seems inadequate and…disrespectful. I did have an idea that involved a friend’s shotgun, but fear of shrapnel set in.

And what to do with this?


Numbers, numbers, numbers. November 7th 2014, our 22nd wedding anniversary and 27th year of cohabitation.  The 19th anniversary, the last together, a nightmare that shoved us into the abyss. The 20th, the landmark we didn’t reach.

And today, here it’s come around again. Memories, tears, the writing and the release, the gratitude and the piercing joy, the longing for a word with him, just one more moment of us, the realization of the life we had and the pieces of it that remain, and even still, this lasting disbelief that he could be lost.

And this?
1st dance013 HD

A first dance as married people, swaying to “our song,” and laugh/crying all over each other, exhausted and exhilarated, and uncomfortable at being so intimately us in the center of the room.

I am not that girl. I am not married. How odd.

And then to this, what about this?


It scares me, how far away I have moved from my writer self.


About Vicki Caroline Cheatwood

Writerly. Rebooting. Evolving. Searching for great chicken salad.
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