"Ningún lugar en la vida es más triste que una cama vacía."
Gabriel García Márquez.
“No place in life is sadder than an empty bed.”
"La verdadera soledad se siente en la cama, cuando el silencio del otro lado pesa más que el sueño." Mario Vargas Llosa
“True loneliness is felt in bed, when the silence of the other side weighs more than the dream.”
My translations
In Canada it is almost impossible to die immediately. One’s life persists. I get mail requesting that Rosemary needs to renew her driver’s licence. On Facebook today I was reminded that today is her 81st birthday. I do not need to be reminded.
While I was born on August 31, 1942 my birth certificate records it on April 18, 1943. My mother told me that my father had forgotten to register my birth. Since my legal birthday is the day before Rosemary’s real one I have never forgotten it. I admit that our wedding anniversary is another story.
Both Márquez and Vargas Llosa have defined my loneliness in bed to a sad perfection. I feel ambivalent when my two cats cuddle up when I am on the bed. Their bedside presence is one that I shared with Rosemary. That absent presence on her side of the bed is one that I wonder if Niña and Niño understand. Every once in a while I loudly say, “Rosemary!” They do not react. They have been blessed by a fading memory. For me that is not the case. Rosemary is real every day and night, every moment that I am aware of my existence.
Today, her birthday, I sense her absent presence in the garden and somehow she is behind me as I write this. Would she be smiling?
