Fifty Years Later...

50. That’s what today should be. Well, maybe not “should.” But his father died at 86, his mother at 93. Why was his life over at 81? We didn’t quite make 45 years together. And today – today would have been 50 years married. For me, it’s still our anniversary, and in my head, I sing “Happy Anniversary to us; I miss you so much.” I sang that the first year, and still today. The pain is less now – it doesn’t hurt so much. My heart still hurts, but it only aches, it no longer feels like there is a hole in it. That hole has been filled: my love for him and his for me didn’t die; it just became embedded in my heart.

Fifty years, five of them without him. I’ll never stop the count. I’ll never stop missing him. But I’m okay now, mostly. I’m different now than I was then. I’d rather still have him, but I’m happy with my life now – at least as happy as I can be, on this other side of us.

And I miss him so much. But, oh, I’m so grateful for the years we had, the memories we made, the life we had together.