I hate him. I hate him for being stupid. I hate him for not thinking about his responsibilities. His baby boy. Me, in particular. How did he think I would be able to raise a child on my own? Who was going to provide for me and our child? Why did he have to be so daft?
I'm talking about Icarus; my husband, my one true love. The father of my child. The person who knew how to make me smile; how to make me rave with anger. Who knew my weaknesses and my strengths. Whoknew me through and through.
I was his "humming-bird" he whispered. The light of his life. He couldn't imagine a life without me, he frequently said. He always made my heart flutter in mid air like a humming bird. So I ask myself, how could he have imagined my life without him? Without Icky, my buzzing-bee.
When I was told that he was dead, I had just given birth. I had tried to swallow the news but my throat seemed to block up with dry hairs and I started to choke. I choked up mixed feelings; anger, pain, exasperation. My heart twisted and throbbed, my blood boiled, my pulse quickened faster than lightning itself. I was furious with Icarus. With myself. I was out of control; shrieking curses. Throwing objects at no one in particular. Tears dropped from my eyelids. Each tear slowly aggravating me more. I was desperately in needof someone to comfort me. Someone to hold me and tell me, "Everything is going to be alright, Elsie." I closed my eyes and held myself around our baby boy, protectively, wishing that that person would come. That, that person would be my buzzing bee. My life seemed to depend on that.
He didn't give our child any memories to cherish. He didn't give me enough. I'm still scared of using the few I have and turning them into memories of memories like songs played too many times. I don't want those memories to become slippery, to just disappear into the thin air, the way most things seem to. I want those memories, our memories to stick- both good and bad- so I that I could repeat them often. And every time I do, I just feel an assortment of both pain and tranquillity.
Yes! Fly. As in fly like those creatures that soar through the air: feeling the wind against their wings; floating like there wasn't such a thing like gravity. A man flying.
Yes! While living with him, I had known his work depended on him trying new things out. "Exploring" he called it. I understood that. I even helped him out often enough to know all the wacky ideas he tried and made. I enjoyed doing that. Just me and Icky working away on a project, testing it out, evaluating them, correcting mistakes. I enjoyed standing back and watching him mix chemicals, slice things, dictate his results and writing it down. I was proud of him. I was swollen with pride that I had my own scientist and he was very crazy.
Then he goes and does the most absurd thing ever. Risking his life trying to prove what? Nothing, I tell you. Nothing!
He is DEAD!
Love is never finished.