THE BLOG
03/18/2010 05:12 am ET Updated Nov 17, 2011

A Love Letter To My Husband

I have now been a widow for fourteen months.  I loved my husband as I have never loved
anyone in my life before.  When we met it
was like we both had won the lottery -- neither one of us perfect but perfect for
each other. 

My loss is huge.  My
husband was fun, funny, intelligent, and he wished for my happiness.  He didn’t compete with me and he was so self
assured that he gave me all the space to be who I am -- a loud, independent,
opinionated woman. 

When we first met, he didn’t seem to be the kind of man I
was usually attracted to.  He was nice
and he showed real interest in me.  As I
got to know him, I learned that what I had pursued in my life had been just
appearances: the appearance of a strong man, the appearance of an interesting
man, the appearance of a cool man.  My
husband didn’t appear to be strong or interesting, he just was. The cool part
did not interest him even though I spent many years trying to convince him that
it was cool to be cool.

Chris Rubin died of cancer kicking and screaming.  And he worried about me.  He worried no one would know how to take care
of me; he knew I needed to be held. He knew me well.  He knew I wrestled with the devil every day
and he worried who would hold me when I looked at my reflection in the mirror and
a different body from that of my youth looked back at me.

I loved to pinch my husband’s behind but as the cancer
devoured his body his once full and round butt looked like a deflated balloon.  He lost so much. 

I cleaned his bed pan and I watched as all the blood in his
body filled thirteen plastic containers as his life sipped away from him.  

I laid down next to him and watched as he took his last
breath in the place he was most comfortable, in my arms. 

I miss his laughter, and I miss him calling me his wife; such
simple words carrying such deep meanings: “ my wife”.

I want to again be in love. 
I want to laugh and I want to fall asleep in someone else’s arms but the
truth is the thought of that fantasy turning into reality scares me.

Chris Rubin’s love lives within me and his loss make me want
to search even more for a meaning to my existence. 

Before my husband left, he gave me the gift of love.  He looked deep into my eyes and in that
moment he loved me fully. 

I want to honor his life and his gift by reminding myself
and others to seize each moment and to love with abandon.

Chris, Christopher, Chris Rubin, I love you, your wife,
Deborah.