My Thoughts Exactly: Confessions of a Scarlet Widow

On June, 4, 2007, we stand hand-in-hand in our local church repeating our wedding vows. As the priest pronounces us husband and wife, Eoghan picks me up.

My mom’s birthday is exactly a week after your wedding.

The congregation, filled with our family and friends, rise to their feet and almost raise the roof with the volume of their cheer.

People still use the phrase “raise the roof”?

At our reception, Eoghan stands at the head of the table, with a microphone balanced in one hand, a wine glass of orange juice in the other and his eyes locked on the glowing face of his new bride.

Speech!  Speech!

‘My beautiful girl,’ he says, loud enough for the crowd but never taking his eyes from my face. ‘I wish I was better with words, so I could explain the deep love I feel for you.

But that’s not going to keep you from going on with this speech is it?

‘From the second I walked into that bar and saw you, with your ridiculous blond ringlets and the shortest shorts I’ve ever seen, I was totally knocked out and knew that one day I would marry you.

God, I hope my husband doesn’t say anything like this at my wedding.

‘I know this journey we’re on sometimes feels like we’re walking on thorns, while other people’s roads are paved with roses, but Amy, no one had ever captured my heart the way you did. We were linked up by the stars with the blessings of the angels.’

Walking on, walking on broken glass.  Boop boo bee doop boo.

His voice breaks and I watch a single tear roll down his cheek before he continues: ‘Do you know how invincible I am with you in my corner?’

All together: How invincible are you?

His pitch grows louder, determined now and stronger. ‘With you, my angel, I can’t be beaten. I am a winner.’

Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

Seemingly exhausted, he almost whispers his last sentence: ‘I love you, Amy, beyond and for ever.’

He has cancer and he’s dying, of course he’s exhausted!  And you just sit there watching him?

Four weeks later, on July 2 at ten to midnight, Eoghan passes away.

Am I supposed to be surprised?

I sit on the edge of his bed and tuck his head into the crease of my arm. I pin photos of our wedding above the hospital bed. His cheeks are blue. His lips are purple. I press my cheek against his face. Already his body smells like a stranger’s.

So this is how you prepared for your future endeavors?  Now it all makes sense.

The skin I’ve stroked so many times feels different: cooler, tougher now.

I’m just going to take a stab in the dark here, but I think it’s because he’s dying.  Just a guess.

His breathing is slowing down. The gap between each gasp is lengthening. I want it to be over for him. I want him to be free of this.

So you can go be a slut, right?

‘You can go now, Eoghan,’ I whisper in his ear. My instincts say he’s holding on too long. ‘You haven’t let me down. We did everything we could, my baby. You did everything you promised me you would.’

Actually, he promised he wasn’t going anywhere.  I think he spoke too soon.

I repeat words we’ve said a thousand times: ‘I love you, Eoghan: that’s never going to change. And I’ll be with you again one day. I’ll meet you again on the beach at Byron Bay, just like we promised. Until then, I’ll do everything we planned for the both of us.’

And that included having sex with numerous people after he dies?  When did that conversation take place?

I press my lips against his ear and will him to hear me: ‘Please go now, baby. It’s OK; it’s time for you to leave.’

Woah!  Where’s the fire?  I mean, besides your pants.

His chest falls, his breath stops.

Boop…Boop…Beeeeeeeeeee

I coped quite well until after the funeral, as I focused on the tasks at hand - picking hymns, meeting and greeting relatives, collecting his last belongings from the hospital - but when the funeral was over, and the guests had gone home, I realised I had nothing to live for any more.

Nothing to live for except 27 penises.  In a way you’re like Katherine Heigl in 27 Dresses, minus the whole bridesmaid thing and anything else in the movie.  So basically just the number 27.

That’s when the pain gave way to numbness. I stopped thinking about Eoghan and the past. I had no interest in the present. I hoped I wouldn’t have a future.

Blah blah blah, where’s the world’s smallest violin?

Two weeks after Eoghan died I got my university results, passing with a 2:1.

Again with the colons!

Three months later, I came back to England, moved home with my parents and became an intern at a fashion magazine.

Wait, you were able to sleep around while living at home with your parents?

After Eoghan died, I was sure I’d never be with another man.

You thought wrong, times 27.

But, you can’t predict how you react to a tragedy, as since then my actions have been the opposite of my intentions.

No, but there’s a general consensus that crying, sadness and depression is standard.  Sex, not so much.

I thought, I can do ‘grief ‘, this isn’t so bad.

You can also do men and lots of them.

I figured I must be strong, as I could still function and go on as normal. I didn’t see it was merely adrenaline that was keeping me going, and that my ‘normal’ behaviour was far from it.

You’re still a whore.  A whore without a husband.