Today is our anniversary.
Seven years ago Meg and I were married. A little over 6 months ago, I lost her -
about 50 years too early.
I’ve never been one to make a big deal about anniversaries
or my birthday. Luckily Meg was pretty
cool with that, and said all she really wanted was a card. Our first few anniversaries we stayed in and
cooked dinner together. Then we took a
cue from some friends and realized it was a good excuse to go out for a really
nice dinner. So I went out for dinner
tonight, but I didn’t plan ahead, so I didn’t go anywhere nice. I went to the Mexican restaurant a few blocks
away from our house. Meg and I went out
for Mexican all the time. I can’t
imagine how many baskets of tortilla chips we shared, sitting across the table
from one another. Actually, while I was
sitting there tonight, I tried to calculate it, and I’d guess that we went out
for Mexican over 200 times together. I
think 15 times per year is a pretty safe estimate - our 3rd and 4th
years at UVA we went to Guadalajara twice a week. She’d get a quesadilla, tostada, and/or a
beef taco. I’d get Vegetarian Combo
#1. Maybe we’d split some Queso – she
loved the “white cheese” they had there.
Anyway, I'm hoping to continue posting on this blog at least once a
month. It's been getting harder to write, and today is my last chance for
September. So I was thinking that I
would write about how I’m feeling today, and how it’s really no different than
any other day. I didn’t think about Meg
more when I woke up this morning just because it was our anniversary. Some mornings I spend a long time in bed just
lying there and thinking about her - I don’t need to save that for once a month
or once a year. I didn’t notice any new,
unique feelings today. Everything was
pretty familiar.
So why do we make such a big deal about anniversaries? I left work a little early today and went by the
cemetery to place some flowers on her grave.
And as I stood there, I started thinking back, first to last year. We had dinner with our parents on the
Saturday night before our anniversary, then had Sunday brunch with the priest
that married us, and then spent that night watching the Giants/Eagles
game. (Man, she was a good sport.) We went out to dinner at Restaurant Eve the
following night. I thought about how
tough that dinner was. We were trying to
celebrate another year, but we had this major cloud hanging over us,
threatening to make this the last anniversary we would spend together. Then I compared that dinner to the two or
three before that, when we could actually celebrate. On our fourth anniversary we had an awesome 3
½ hour dinner at Cityzen that we talked about for months afterwards. And then I kept going back, to our wedding,
and thought about how great that day was.
When we woke up the morning after we were married, I told Meg that was the best day of my
life, and time has done nothing to make me question that opinion.
I realized that maybe anniversaries are a little different,
because we are remembering something special and unique in our lives. So we celebrate because we want to remember
these happy moments. And because that
original day was memorable, so too are all of the annual activities we plan to
commemorate it. We all wish each other a
“happy” day.
However, no one has said happy anniversary today. Instead, some have said that they are “thinking
about me.” (Which is very nice and much
appreciated.) There is a distinct shift
in tone. And the fact is, it is
warranted. Maybe someday I’ll be able to
feel peace and laugh about the good times again. But today, I feel less whole than I did a
year ago, and much less than the year before that. Anniversaries come with memories, and those
memories make us take stock of where we are now, compared with where we were
then. And sometimes the differences between
those two points in time can be painful.
So maybe this day is a little different than the other
days. But in many ways it’s the
same. Every day I’m trying my best to
put one foot in front of the other. It’s
a slow process, but I think I’m learning to walk again. It doesn’t mean I miss her any less or that I
don’t still think about her all the time.
Sometimes I really struggle to accept the fact that she’s not coming
back. Unfortunately, it’s not until after you lose someone
you love that you realize how badly you'd like to have one more moment with them.
I’ve been going out for Mexican food much less frequently
recently. That means that a lot of nights, I find myself home, sitting alone with my guitar.
Sometimes I write songs and hopelessly try my darndest to sing in tune. And sometimes I press the record button on my
phone. This is from a few months ago, but it's how I'm feeling tonight.
