I got word today that my wife Amy passed away on September 4, 2018. She was only 52 years old.
Amy was the great love of my life. We met and had a courtship straight out of a Disney movie. The first time I took her to Assateague National Seashore, a baby seal swam out of the ocean right up to her feet.
We were married on October 10, 2010 on the steps of the old Manassas Courthouse – site of the 1911 Peace Festival, where veterans from both sides of the battle of Manassas came together in the spirit of peace and brotherhood.
For years after the wedding we would drive up to the courthouse steps where we exchanged our vows. I would sing old love songs and we would hold each other close and dance.
Then I got sick. One operation became two, became four, became nine. Each procedure taking more and more strain on us, and pumping more and more pain medication into my bloodstream. By 2014 I decided to start treatment for opioid addiction in Crisfield. Amy and I stayed in contact every day, and saw each other whenever we could.
Less than two years ago Amy pushed me away. I talked, I sang, I begged. The messages back were brutally clear that I was to stay away. I knew something bad was happening, but she made her wishes clear. It broke my heart, but I gave her the space she asked for.
Now she is gone.
Through all of the pain I cannot help but feel gratitude for the time we had together. When I first took Amy out on photography walks all she was interested in was dead trees. I took her out into Blackwater, Assateague, Bombay Hook and the world came alive. Skies filled with snow geese. We enjoyed being stalked by playful foxes. So much beauty. When we were together we burned so brightly that the whole world seemed in a different light.
Goodbye my love, my darling, my Amy Rose.