Mrs. John Adams

As she came back from the cemetery, after her husband's funeral early this afternoon, stood right in front of her main door before entering inside, had a look at the nameplate that said “Mrs and Mr. John Adams”, gently ran her fingers through it and sighed. As she unlocked the door, she remembered the very first time she entered the house with her beloved husband, wearing her white wedding gown, looking the most beautiful at the time, holding his hand and with dreams of her future with John. But now, she was all alone, clad in a black dress, and with infinite memories of him.
Threw back the keys on the table, removed her heels in the living room and with hands up on the waist, she looked at the empty house, scanned the whole area from left to right and slowly reached her bedroom. Opened the cupboard to change to nightwear and there she looked at his side, where his clothes were kept and bit her lower lip, trying to control herself, she touched his clothes, his shirts, hanging on to the hanger and his handkerchiefs kept well organized. She took out a shirt of his, a white one, she had gifted to him on his first birthday after their marriage, and probably the only shirt he loved wearing the most. With it, she sat down on the bed, still in her black dress, opened her hair gently and hugged the shirt. She sat there for a long one hour, hugging the shirt, keeping it the closest as she could. As she kissed the collar, it still had his fragrance; she thought he was with her, still with her. Her mascara had smudged as tears rolled down her cheeks. She left the shirt on the bed and quickly slipped into a t-shirt and lower.
Stood there, in front of the bed, looking at the side where John used to sleep, she saw his photo on the side table and quickly grabbed it, stared at it for another ten minutes, looked into his eyes, his smile, at HIM. She again cried.
It’s unbearable to see anyone close pass away in front of your eyes, but he was her husband, the one closest to her. Her pain was incomparable and her suffering, it was never-ending. The void in her life would never be filled and her damaged heart would never be fixed again. Her own home was suffocating her, memories of her and John made this house a home. And now that he wasn’t with her, the home was nothing but an endless long tunnel with no light at the end. She was lost in there.
Irrespective of whether or not she was sleepy, she quickly jumped into the bed, majorly to escape the situation, the pain, and John’s memories. But she didn’t know they were something she would never get rid of. John was her part and so were his memories. After an hour and completely no sign of sleep, she quickly grabbed her phone and dialled John’s number in the hope that he’d pick up. But he had gone to a different world, from where there was no coming back and definitely no phone calls “Hi, this is John Adams, I’m unavailable right now, I shall get back to you soon.” She called his number again and again and again. She finally cried, cried her heart out, screamed, pleaded, and wished for John to be back. But as destiny had it, she was all by herself and John’s memories. She didn’t know after how long she cried herself to sleep. Maybe in her dreams would she meet John and complain about him not being with her!