That’s how long we should’ve been married, as of yesterday.
It’s a long time.
One that I didn’t get.
It’s been 13 years, 5 months and 10 days.
That he didn’t get.
One hundred and sixty one months and 10 days.
Four thousand, nine hundred and ten days.
But who’s counting?
Me, that’s who.
Our anniversary date has come and gone for the last few years without much pain.
In fact, I almost forgot it last year.
But this year …… this year May 28th and I stared each other down as it approached.
We stared hard.
I have no idea why this year was different.
Or why I’ve been missing him more than usual lately.
I know I’ve written about this before, but it’s curious how the body grieves without the mind sometimes.
I wonder if anyone’s actually studied that?
My body, which includes my heart, grieves for him even when I’m not aware there’s a reason.
A specific reason, I mean.
Of course him just being dead is reason enough, is it not?
My heart has been grieving him especially hard this spring.
So yesterday was …… sad.
I miss him.
After 117,840 hours, give or take, I still cry when I type those three words.
I have a friend from high school who was married on that same day.
She’s been married all of the time that I haven’t.
I envy her.
She takes time every year to send me a note to tell me that she’s thinking of me on May 28th.
I love her for that.
She’ll probably never know how much I love it.
And how much I need it.
It’s nice to be thought of.
It’s nice to be remembered.
And it’s wonderful when Jim is remembered.
It’s the best gift I could receive.
Especially after 701 weeks and three days.