Life With Sarg - Part III

Sarg had a lover. I suppose we should have guessed as much, but none of us knew Sarg was capable of loving anyone but my sister. We knew he had friends, yes, but having a lover required both emotion and passion. Sarg displayed neither. Sarg worked, Sarg drank, Sarg yelled, Sarg golfed. Sarg died. At Sarg's funeral we cried. His lover wailed. That's how we uncovered his secret. That's when we knew Sarg was capable of so much more, and that's when we realized that we were completely incapable of drawing it from him.

A career military man recieves a soldier's funeral. At the grave site the trumpets played Taps. I felt my soul spin wildly, indicative of the nature of our entire relationship - spinning and colliding...gravity pulling us together and the mass of all our past experiences pulling us apart. I held on to my husband until the 21 gun salute. I recall two shots, then my knees buckled. While my mother glared at the wailing lover and my sister cried - oblivious to the unfolding truth of his betrayal - I gave in to more than gravity; I gave in to the knowledge that I would not miss Sarg. I had missed him every day of my life, right up until the day he died. I had missed his approval, had missed his affection, had missed his secrets. When the last shot fired, I was through missing him. We each passed by his coffin and threw our roses. The symbolism was not lost on me.