I Wonder

I wonder, if it was me instead, how much would you have grieved me? Would you have buckled your belt, tied your shoe laces and gone to work with a distraught toddler at home? How much would you have cried, vented and been angry with the world, if I had died instead of you? 

Would you have continued living like nothing happened? Would you even have had the time to grieve me to begin with it, what with your meteorical rise up the corporate ladder.

How would you have answered our baby's  dozen questions about my death, ranging from, "Why didn't mama take me with her to God?", "Will mama jump into our house from the stars?", "When I die, will I see mama again and be happy?", "Did mama disappear?"

It must be so easy being a soul. All you have to do, is appear in a few bizzarre dreams once in a while and just vanish again, to do whatever it is that you do in heaven. 

I miss you everytime I read a filthy joke on Instagram. Would you have missed me too, each time you saw Theobroma posting about their latest dessert?

I'm only left with a lifetime of wondering now. I wonder, how long would you have grieved me? I wonder, why you made terrible decisions completely disregarding our 3 year old?

You really are one lucky guy aren't you, both dead and alive. We always had your back, your son and I. Even in our anger and disappointment, we have nothing but love for you. What a shame it is, that you won't get to experience any of it. 

You're not resting in peace. I can say this with absolute certainty, not just as your wife, but as the person who doused you with ghee, pushed you into the fire, immersed your ashes in an obscure holy tank and sat for six bone crushing hours, on the floor, chanting mantras in a language I've never spoken in my life. So no, you're not resting in peace, because I will never be at peace.