I’m not one who keeps track of things like anniversaries, birthdays and holidays. Generally I pay no attention to them.
I could care less about my birthday. I prefer normal days to holidays.
But my wife’s birthday will forever be seared into my memory.
I loved her. It was an important day for her. So I never forgot it.
Exactly two years ago on her birthday, I called hospice for her.
After 7 months of increasingly agonizing suffering from lung cancer that had spread into her chest, spine, legs and breast, she decided to stop treatment.
The surgery, the radiation, the transfusion and the chemotherapy had all failed to slow the cancer. The pain had become unbearable.
Five weeks after I called hospice, she died.
I saw it was my wife’s birthday yesterday and it made me sad.
I thought about how old she’d be today.
I thought about the agonizing last 8 months of her life.
I thought about her big smile.
I thought about how much I loved her and how much she loved me.
And I thought, “I should be sad today. That’s totally appropriate.”
I spent the day doing my usual – working out, walking the dogs, exercising and doing chores.
I thought about her a lot.
I remembered the good times we had – walking the dog and holding hands, snuggling on the sofa under a blanket on cold winter evenings, laughing and drinking red wine while eating scrumptious food at the Italian restaurant on date night, basking in the sun at Deep Creek lake. Her big cheesy grin and bright eyes that lit up my life more than anything or anyone ever had.
And I missed her – even more than usual.
But today, is another day. I no longer have to be sad everyday – even if I wish she was still here with me. In fact, most days I am fantastic – even when I am missing her.
I like to think that I am OK because of who she made me. Some of her joy for life rubbed off on me.
Happy Birthday, Babe.
I love you.