The Storm Never Truly Passed

Content Warning: Grief, loss.

As the storm gathered strength, long-buried memories began to replay in her mind.

The morning was cold and gloomy. A true autumn day. The overcast sky foretold a rainy day. Ever since October had begun, no two days had been alike. The sun had become miserly, stubbornly refusing to show itself in the sky today as well.

Ilinca was an elderly woman, devout and God-fearing. This month, she was about to turn seventy. Her short gray hair framed her face and her blue eyes. She had once been a beautiful woman—not that she was ugly now, but age and loneliness had taken their toll.

A clap of thunder echoed through the now-empty house. She quickly made the sign of the cross and stepped away from the window with its worn, weather-cracked blinds. Her eyes fell on the picture frame resting on the table. A silver frame, worn with age, held the smiling face of the man she loved. It was the same silver frame she had owned since her youth. He had given it to her as a gift. It had been love at first sight, and they had pledged lifelong love and faithfulness to one another. Together, they had wanted for nothing.

"I love you," she said to the picture. For twenty years, every morning when she woke, she looked at the frame with his beloved face and whispered the same words they had spoken to each other when they were together. "If you were still here, we would have faced this storm together, just like we did that day..."

Painful memories tore at her heart once again.

Twenty years earlier, on her birthday, a thunderstorm had swept in, growing into a violent tempest. They had tickets to the theater that evening. It had been his birthday gift to her, along with a huge bouquet of flowers and a small heart-shaped cake. They had decided they would cut the cake when they returned home. But the raging weather never gave them the chance to leave. They stayed home instead, cut into the chocolate-and-whipped-cream cake, and, as he did every year, he sang "Happy Birthday" to her.

After they had eaten and laughed together, he told her he was going to lie down for a while so the whipped cream could settle in his stomach. She smiled and nodded.

Outside, hell had broken loose. Thunder roared and lightning flashed, while every now and then the branches of the tree in front of the house beat against the frosted windowpane in a frightening rhythm.

The wall clock struck nine. She picked up the remote and turned the television down, then covered her husband with his favorite blanket and kissed him on the forehead goodnight, just as she did every evening.

He looked at her lovingly and took her hand. "I love you," he said. Then sleep completely overtook him.

She had no way of knowing those would be the last words of love he would ever say to her. The very words she still longed to hear after years and years of loneliness.

She let him sleep and lay down beside him. His breathing was warm and peaceful. As she watched him, she thought how fortunate she was to have him by her side. Aside from the terrible weather, it had been exactly the kind of birthday she had wished for—truly beautiful, she could say. All the happy moments of their life together passed before her eyes until she, too, drifted to sleep, her hand resting in his.

The night passed with the storm, and at dawn, when she awoke, he was still beside her. Usually, he woke before she did and made the coffee. She pushed herself up to kiss him on the forehead and say, "Good morning."

Suddenly, she froze.

His forehead was cold. His breathing had stopped.

Dear God... what had happened to him during the night?

Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring her vision.

"Oh, no! Wake up! Wake up!" she cried, shaking him. "Don't do this to me. No... no, please! Please!"

But his face remained still and expressionless. She took his hands in hers and began kissing them gently.

That was how her birthday ended.

This year, she would spend her birthday alone once again. And with a little luck—if her pension stretched far enough—perhaps she would buy herself a small cake as a treat, one with a single colorful candle to place on top. No one had sung "Happy Birthday" to her in a very long time.

God had never blessed them with children, but they had shared a life together through good times and bad, and, above all, with love.

It had taken her many years to recover, though sometimes the memory still carved its way across her face and through her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to escape it. It returned again and again, especially around her birthday. And yet, she thought, how could she ever forget when every morning she looked at the frame and the smiling face that had once meant everything to her? A lifetime of love is not forgotten so easily...

"I loved you, and I will always love you," she whispered, "but I think it's time for you to continue on your path, and for me to continue on mine. Otherwise, I won't make it past the age of seventy."

She would have loved to drink her coffee in the garden behind the house, as she used to, surrounded by the scent of autumn, where a small table with a parasol still stood. But she doubted the weather would allow it.

Another clap of thunder brought her back to reality. She settled into the armchair and pulled the knitted blanket over her cold legs. She hadn't felt this cold in a very long time.

The coffee had gone cold, too.

She had never been much of a coffee drinker, but it had become a habit while they were together. Mornings had always seemed easier that way.

She took a sip of coffee and leaned back, tilting her head to one side as she closed her eyes. A faint smile appeared at the corner of her lips, and the tension slowly melted from her face. She saw his handsome, radiant face once more and reached out her hands toward him, as though floating.

Outside, the storm began to subside. Only an occasional flash of lightning still lit up the small room—and the face that had once been beautiful and kind.