I’ve always asked questions—lots of them! I’m not one to conform; I’m quite the rebel, always eager to know why. Barrie found this amusing and often remarked on my insatiable curiosity. When we first met, most of our conversations revolved around questions and answers, some quite forward! He was awkward at times and loved to shock me, which made it all the more fun!
On July 24th, 2007, he replied to my email saying I wouldn’t be able to make our usual Skype chat: “It’s no problem at all; it gives me an extra day to think up embarrassing questions and teasers.” Little by little, through that harmless banter, we fell in love.
The beginning of this lonely life has been tough. Adjusting to this new reality is one of the most challenging experiences I’ve faced. I live with my memories—those scattered around the house and especially those on our rooftop. Facing them is the hardest. Every night when I go up to water your plants I shed a few tears. How can I not when it is the source of so many happy memories? We saw our first falling star there and thought of it as a good omen of beautiful times ahead. And yes, beautiful times we certainly had. That’s what makes it all the more difficult to be up there alone.
It’s a beautiful space, particularly when the sun sets, casting a magical glow. I usually rush up, water the plants, and hurry back down, but we used to spend hours up there. In August during the Perseids meteor showers we even used to sleep up there! How fun it was to see who saw more falling stars! My niece says you were pulling our leg, that you weren’t really seeing them. That definitely would have been you! 😊
You came to me a few nights ago. I saw you, radiating your handsome, strong, powerful self. You were smoking. I reprimanded you—always a bone of contention between us. “Why do you have to keep smoking?” I asked. Then you walked toward me in your wise, peaceful manner. You kissed me twice. I said, “Thank you, honey. Thank you.” And you were gone. It was so sad, waking up to the realization that it was just that—a dream.
I’m still asking questions. Why did you wait so long to visit me in dreams? Are you going to come back? What kind of dream will it be next time? Should I stay here, or should I move? If I move, will I miss you even more? I have so many unanswered questions about when you were sick and what you felt. I wonder about the first signs of your illness in Dubai and whether your sometimes coarse remarks were early indicators, especially since you had always been so kind and gentle.
I imagine widows do this often—retrace what happened over and over again, as if we could change or have changed the inevitable. But perhaps in these questions lies a path to healing and understanding, even if only for myself.
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Siempre he hecho preguntas—¡muchas! No me gusta conformarme; soy bastante rebelde, siempre con ganas de saber por qué. A Barrie esto le parecía gracioso y solía comentar sobre mi curiosidad insaciable. Cuando nos conocimos, la mayoría de nuestras conversaciones eran preguntas y respuestas, ¡algunas bastante directas! A veces él era un poco difícil y le encantaba sorprenderme, ésto lo hacía aún más divertido.
El 24 de julio de 2007, me respondió a un correo en el que yo decía que no podría conectarme a nuestra charla habitual por Skype: “No hay problema; me da un día más para pensar preguntas embarazosas y formas de tomarte el pelo.” Poco a poco, a través de esas charlas divertidas e indiscretas, nos enamoramos.
El comienzo de esta vida en solitario ha sido duro. Adaptarme a esta nueva realidad ha sido una de las experiencias más difíciles a las que me he enfrentado. Vivo con mis recuerdos—los que están esparcidos por la casa y, sobre todo, los de nuestra azotea. Enfrentarme a esos es lo más difícil. Cada noche, cuando subo a regar tus plantas, derramo algunas lágrimas. ¿Cómo no hacerlo si es el lugar de tantos recuerdos felices? Vimos nuestra primera estrella fugaz allí y la tomamos como un buen presagio de los bonitos momentos que vendrían. Y sí, sin duda tuvimos tiempos preciosos. Eso es lo que hace que sea aún más difícil estar allí sola.
Es un espacio fantástico, especialmente cuando el sol se pone y todo se tiñe de una luz mágica. Normalmente subo rápido, riego las plantas y bajo de inmediato, pero antes solíamos pasar horas allí. En agosto, durante las lluvias de meteoros de las Perseidas, ¡hasta dormíamos allí! Qué divertido era ver quién veía más estrellas fugaces. Mi sobrina dice que nos tomabas el pelo, que en realidad no las veías. ¡Definitivamente eso sería muy tú! 😊
Viniste a mí hace unas noches. Te vi radiante, guapo, fuerte. Estabas fumando. Te regañé—siempre fue un punto de conflicto entre nosotros—¿por qué tienes que seguir fumando?, te pregunté. Y luego caminaste hacia mí con tu manera sabia y tranquila, me besaste dos veces, y yo dije: “Gracias, cariño, gracias.” Y desapareciste. Fue tan triste despertarme y darme cuenta de que solo había sido un sueño.
Sigo haciendo preguntas. ¿Por qué tardaste tanto en visitarme en sueños? ¿Vas a volver? ¿Qué tipo de sueño será la próxima vez? ¿Debo quedarme aquí, o debo mudarme? Si me mudo, ¿te echaré aún más de menos? Tengo tantas preguntas sin respuesta sobre cuando estuviste enfermo y lo que sentías. Me pregunto sobre las primeras señales de tu enfermedad en Dubái y si tus comentarios a veces bruscos eran indicios tempranos, especialmente porque siempre habías sido tan amable y gentil.
Imagino que las viudas hacemos esto a menudo—repasamos lo ocurrido una y otra vez, como si pudiéramos cambiar, o hubiéramos podido cambiar, lo inevitable. Pero tal vez en estas preguntas haya un camino hacia la sanación y la comprensión, aunque sea solo para mí.
About Carmen Medina
Carmen is a 66-year-old widow who is living in Spain. She was born in Vancouver, B.C., Canada to Spanish parents. Since 2019 she has been living in Antequera in the south of Spain. She was married to Barrie Eggington, her soul mate and love of her life till he passed away on December 23rd, 2023, after a long battle with lung cancer.
Thanks to Hope for Widows, which she found online just a few weeks after his passing, Carmen found a group who not only understood what she was going through when few others did, but also solace in her sisters in grief, a place where she could express her feelings and find the resonance she needed.
Carmen has been an English teacher and teacher trainer for over 30 years in Europe, the Middle East and North America. She still teaches English and is the principal at the government funded language school where she is currently working. She spends her time with her daughter and grandchildren. She goes to the gym every day, loves the beach, particularly Torremolinos where she reminisces about the time she spent there with her late husband.