ElySioNs
Mercenary
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“I really want to kiss you right now,” Philip said to me as we sat looking over the horse pasture of my 40-acre farm.
I turned my face to him. His features were sharp in the moonlight. My husband had passed less than seven months before.
Philip and I had agreed to be in a relationship several weeks ago. I’d been ejected from the house my husband and I shared for more than a decade following a spat with my parents. (Our home was located on their property behind a locked gate). My eldest daughter moved out and into her own place, and my youngest daughter decided to move in with my parents.
I’d taken to sleeping on Philip’s couch, and though we’d established that we were in a relationship, we’d made no motions to indicate that we were or would be intimate anytime soon.
I tried not to hesitate.
I’d known Philip for nearly eighteen years. I’d met him when he came to work at the animal clinic where I was employed. He was only fifteen years old back then. We hit it off and became friends quickly. When Philip met my husband, Danny, the two of them began to spend large amounts of time together. Eighteen years later, the two were inseparable
The only person I could confide in was Philip.
I took a deep breath and looked Philip over. He was handsome. Over six feet tall with dark brown hair and deep green eyes. Nearly ten years my junior, I wondered what made him so attracted to me.
“So, kiss me,” I finally responded, shuffling through the want I had for him, and the despair I felt in the loss of my husband.
He put his hand against my face and pressed his lips softly against mine. Warmth filled me, my breath caught, and guilt immediately made its self present.
I pulled away from him. Philip took my hand in his, one of the first times he’d done so, and kissed the back of my hand. It was like he instinctively knew what I was feeling.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into the darkness, letting me know that he wouldn’t be pushing me any further.
Guilt and anxiety rushed out of me in the form of vomit. I heaved for over an hour before I laid down on the cold tile floor and cried myself to sleep.
This was not a new action. I was often so overcome with grief that I would vomit and then fall asleep on the bathroom floor. This feeling was different, though. I felt as if I’d just done something terrible, like I’d deceived the one I loved more than anyone in this world, my Danny.
Usually, during these sessions of grief and self-pity, Philip would sit outside the door and listen for me to calm. He’d then open the door and ask me if I needed anything to which I would usually answer that I didn’t. He’d bring me a glass of water anyway and help me to the couch for the night.
I began to sob. I didn’t have to explain why. “I miss him too,” Philip spoke softly to me.
Our lives went on like this for a while. I occupied myself with my job and my animals, with trying to regain my relationship with my daughters and with doing all the things for Philip that I used to do for Danny.
I’d get up in the morning and cook breakfast for him before packing his lunch for the day.
He’d thank me for breakfast and for packing his lunch, remind me that I didn’t have to do such things, and then hug me tightly or kiss me on the forehead before leaving for work.
I’d then go to work, head to my farm after work and then rush home, eager to cook supper before Philip got home.
After we ate, Philip would usually ask me if I wanted to go ride dirt roads on the ATV. I knew this was not something he wanted to do. I knew he was tired from his fourteen-hour shift at work, and I knew he was doing this to keep me out of the bathroom or off the couch drowning in my own tears.
My heart ached when I thought of my daughters, who’d decided not to live with me after the death of their father. I thought of my house and the months we spent renovating and putting everything back together in a way that we wanted. And I thought of my family, who’d mostly disowned me after the loss of my husband and the selling of his company.
I felt mostly alone and empty. The one person I didn’t feel alone with was Philip.
I remember looking over at him as we rode through those cool winter nights, seeing him smile, and feeling immense guilt at the thought that he was beautiful to me.
I hated myself for wanting to be close to him, for getting lost in his deep green eyes, and even for feeling safe in his embrace.
I felt as if I were cheating on my husband…my husband who’d passed away. My husband who I knew would never be returned to me. The sadness of it consumed me day in and day out. What I was beginning to feel for his best friend, Philip, complicated those emotions.
I had people say, “I bet they were sleeping together while Danny was alive,” or “There’s no way she really loved Danny if she moved on that quickly”.
I even had one woman tell me, “You should be ashamed, f-ing your husband’s best friend before his body is even cold in the ground…you got rid of Danny…” and “you gave Danny COVID and didn’t care if he went to the hospital until he was too sick to survive.”
But none of those things were true. What was true, was that I loved my husband dearly, that I spent two months by his hospital bedside before his passing, and that I would have given anything, even my own life to have saved his.
What was also true, was that moving forward was extremely difficult for me. I began to question whether or not I was making the right decision by forming a relationship with Philip.
“Many people are not going to like the idea that you are moving forward with your life after the death of your husband. I cannot tell you what their motives might be in feeling that way or bombarding you with those terrible messages.
“What I will do is tell you to ask yourself if you would be okay with Philip seeing/dating someone else.
“You also need to ask yourself if the friendship you had with Philip before Danny passed is something you’re willing to give up.
“This relationship with Philip is not a new relationship, this is an eighteen-year relationship…the nature of the relationship has changed, but Philip is still the close friend you’ve always had. The two of you have probably bonded tightly over the loss of Danny.
“If you’re not ready to move forward, that’s okay, and you should tell him so. But if you do truly care for him, and you wouldn’t want to see him with anyone else, or you can’t envision your life without him, you also need to make that clear to him.
“You need to understand that the amount of time you grieve is not proportionate to the depth of your grief.
“It’s okay for you to feel devestated at the loss of your husband, and it’s also okay for you to admit that you are falling in love with someone else.
“You are not cheating on your husband — Your husband is not coming back. You are not betraying him or his memory by letting someone else love you, or by loving someone else.”
I understood my past life, like my husband, had passed away, and the love I was beginning to feel for Philip had nothing to do with my life with or the depth of my love for Danny.
I had to start over. As much as I hated the thought of letting go, I had to release the pain and the guilt of it all. I could look into the past and appreciate it, but I couldn’t dwell there.
I sat down with Philip the next night and explained to him that, while letting go was difficult for me, I was willing to move forward with him. I told him that I wanted to go “all in” and that I really did want to give us the best chance at forever, even if I didn’t act like it at times.
I asked him to please be patient with me in my moments of weakness, and to know that I did love him, even when I was still grieving Danny.
He told me that it was okay to take my time and that he understood how difficult it had been for me to lose everything familiar to me.
“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old,” he said, “ and I loved Danny like a brother. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait. No matter how long it takes, I’ll wait.”
Less than a year later, Philip and I got married. His two children ages thirteen and fifteen moved in with us. My eldest daughter got married and bought a house and my youngest daughter splits her time between our home and her grandparents’ home.
My new life is not perfect. It’s very different than what I had with Danny. I still have bouts of grief.
There are times when I lose control of my emotions and break down into tears. I still look through pictures and videos of my sweet Danny and recall just how wonderful our life was together.
But nearly three years after Danny’s death, I’m loving the life that Philp and I are creating together. I love our blended family, and I’m grateful to Philp every day that he’s the kind of man who was willing to pick me up when I fell. I’m grateful that he saw in me the strength to go on, even when I couldn’t see it in myself.
Danny often said Philip was the brother he never had, and Philip spoke of Danny as his mentor and closest confidant.
I turned my face to him. His features were sharp in the moonlight. My husband had passed less than seven months before.
Philip and I had agreed to be in a relationship several weeks ago. I’d been ejected from the house my husband and I shared for more than a decade following a spat with my parents. (Our home was located on their property behind a locked gate). My eldest daughter moved out and into her own place, and my youngest daughter decided to move in with my parents.
I’d taken to sleeping on Philip’s couch, and though we’d established that we were in a relationship, we’d made no motions to indicate that we were or would be intimate anytime soon.
I tried not to hesitate.
I’d known Philip for nearly eighteen years. I’d met him when he came to work at the animal clinic where I was employed. He was only fifteen years old back then. We hit it off and became friends quickly. When Philip met my husband, Danny, the two of them began to spend large amounts of time together. Eighteen years later, the two were inseparable
Danny’s death left the both of us reeling.
My family was non-sympathetic to the fact that I’d lost my husband of twenty plus years, and I didn’t want to stress my daughters with the complete mess that was my emotional state.The only person I could confide in was Philip.
I took a deep breath and looked Philip over. He was handsome. Over six feet tall with dark brown hair and deep green eyes. Nearly ten years my junior, I wondered what made him so attracted to me.
“So, kiss me,” I finally responded, shuffling through the want I had for him, and the despair I felt in the loss of my husband.
He put his hand against my face and pressed his lips softly against mine. Warmth filled me, my breath caught, and guilt immediately made its self present.
I pulled away from him. Philip took my hand in his, one of the first times he’d done so, and kissed the back of my hand. It was like he instinctively knew what I was feeling.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into the darkness, letting me know that he wouldn’t be pushing me any further.
On the way back to his house, I held back tears.
When we finally made it home, I went into the bathroom and closed the door.Guilt and anxiety rushed out of me in the form of vomit. I heaved for over an hour before I laid down on the cold tile floor and cried myself to sleep.
This was not a new action. I was often so overcome with grief that I would vomit and then fall asleep on the bathroom floor. This feeling was different, though. I felt as if I’d just done something terrible, like I’d deceived the one I loved more than anyone in this world, my Danny.
Usually, during these sessions of grief and self-pity, Philip would sit outside the door and listen for me to calm. He’d then open the door and ask me if I needed anything to which I would usually answer that I didn’t. He’d bring me a glass of water anyway and help me to the couch for the night.
But that’s not what happened this night.
This night, Philip came into the bathroom, removed my shoes and cleaned up my face. He lifted me off the floor and placed me in his bed where he wrapped his arms around me and drew me into his chest.I began to sob. I didn’t have to explain why. “I miss him too,” Philip spoke softly to me.
Our lives went on like this for a while. I occupied myself with my job and my animals, with trying to regain my relationship with my daughters and with doing all the things for Philip that I used to do for Danny.
I’d get up in the morning and cook breakfast for him before packing his lunch for the day.
He’d thank me for breakfast and for packing his lunch, remind me that I didn’t have to do such things, and then hug me tightly or kiss me on the forehead before leaving for work.
I’d then go to work, head to my farm after work and then rush home, eager to cook supper before Philip got home.
After we ate, Philip would usually ask me if I wanted to go ride dirt roads on the ATV. I knew this was not something he wanted to do. I knew he was tired from his fourteen-hour shift at work, and I knew he was doing this to keep me out of the bathroom or off the couch drowning in my own tears.
I’d ride along, listening to music or Philip talk, but inside, I felt sorrow.
Sorrow for the life that I’d lost.My heart ached when I thought of my daughters, who’d decided not to live with me after the death of their father. I thought of my house and the months we spent renovating and putting everything back together in a way that we wanted. And I thought of my family, who’d mostly disowned me after the loss of my husband and the selling of his company.
I felt mostly alone and empty. The one person I didn’t feel alone with was Philip.
I remember looking over at him as we rode through those cool winter nights, seeing him smile, and feeling immense guilt at the thought that he was beautiful to me.
I hated myself for wanting to be close to him, for getting lost in his deep green eyes, and even for feeling safe in his embrace.
I felt as if I were cheating on my husband…my husband who’d passed away. My husband who I knew would never be returned to me. The sadness of it consumed me day in and day out. What I was beginning to feel for his best friend, Philip, complicated those emotions.
People were unkind to me.
While Danny’s family seemed to understand my need for support, and had no issue with Philip and me forming a relationship, many people did find issue with it.I had people say, “I bet they were sleeping together while Danny was alive,” or “There’s no way she really loved Danny if she moved on that quickly”.
I even had one woman tell me, “You should be ashamed, f-ing your husband’s best friend before his body is even cold in the ground…you got rid of Danny…” and “you gave Danny COVID and didn’t care if he went to the hospital until he was too sick to survive.”
But none of those things were true. What was true, was that I loved my husband dearly, that I spent two months by his hospital bedside before his passing, and that I would have given anything, even my own life to have saved his.
What was also true, was that moving forward was extremely difficult for me. I began to question whether or not I was making the right decision by forming a relationship with Philip.
I told my therapist how deeply guilty I felt.
“I’m not going to tell you that you should or should not be with Philip. I’m not going to try to sugar coat the truth of your situation.” She said to me.“Many people are not going to like the idea that you are moving forward with your life after the death of your husband. I cannot tell you what their motives might be in feeling that way or bombarding you with those terrible messages.
“What I will do is tell you to ask yourself if you would be okay with Philip seeing/dating someone else.
“You also need to ask yourself if the friendship you had with Philip before Danny passed is something you’re willing to give up.
“This relationship with Philip is not a new relationship, this is an eighteen-year relationship…the nature of the relationship has changed, but Philip is still the close friend you’ve always had. The two of you have probably bonded tightly over the loss of Danny.
“If you’re not ready to move forward, that’s okay, and you should tell him so. But if you do truly care for him, and you wouldn’t want to see him with anyone else, or you can’t envision your life without him, you also need to make that clear to him.
“You need to understand that the amount of time you grieve is not proportionate to the depth of your grief.
“It’s okay for you to feel devestated at the loss of your husband, and it’s also okay for you to admit that you are falling in love with someone else.
“You are not cheating on your husband — Your husband is not coming back. You are not betraying him or his memory by letting someone else love you, or by loving someone else.”
I left her office that day with a new perspective.
I understood that I and I alone had to make the decision to move forward or to drown in my past. I understood that I was grieving not only the loss of my husband, but also the loss of the life we had together.I understood my past life, like my husband, had passed away, and the love I was beginning to feel for Philip had nothing to do with my life with or the depth of my love for Danny.
I had to start over. As much as I hated the thought of letting go, I had to release the pain and the guilt of it all. I could look into the past and appreciate it, but I couldn’t dwell there.
I sat down with Philip the next night and explained to him that, while letting go was difficult for me, I was willing to move forward with him. I told him that I wanted to go “all in” and that I really did want to give us the best chance at forever, even if I didn’t act like it at times.
I asked him to please be patient with me in my moments of weakness, and to know that I did love him, even when I was still grieving Danny.
He told me that it was okay to take my time and that he understood how difficult it had been for me to lose everything familiar to me.
“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old,” he said, “ and I loved Danny like a brother. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait. No matter how long it takes, I’ll wait.”
Less than a year later, Philip and I got married. His two children ages thirteen and fifteen moved in with us. My eldest daughter got married and bought a house and my youngest daughter splits her time between our home and her grandparents’ home.
My new life is not perfect. It’s very different than what I had with Danny. I still have bouts of grief.
There are times when I lose control of my emotions and break down into tears. I still look through pictures and videos of my sweet Danny and recall just how wonderful our life was together.
But nearly three years after Danny’s death, I’m loving the life that Philp and I are creating together. I love our blended family, and I’m grateful to Philp every day that he’s the kind of man who was willing to pick me up when I fell. I’m grateful that he saw in me the strength to go on, even when I couldn’t see it in myself.
Danny often said Philip was the brother he never had, and Philip spoke of Danny as his mentor and closest confidant.
