Anniversaries on top of anniversaries
Today would’ve been our third anniversary, the third anniversary of our meeting, because that’s what unmarried people celebrate. Of course, for our third year, I was without him for all but a month and a half of it. Still, the day matters to me. I marked it; him not so much. I think for him, the concept of “anniversary” was inextricably entwined with “marriage,” and with his over, I’m not sure he thought it applied to us. I’m just guessing, though; I never asked him what he thought about it. I think I was a little afraid to know.
I gave him a sextant, a fancy brass one with all the little glass eyepieces, for our anniversary last year, so he could always find his way in this new life he was creating for himself, and a card. He loved it. When he didn’t do anything celebratory, I told him it was fine. I didn’t make a fuss, because I thought it would seem needy and insecure, and I didn’t want to be that with him, even if I felt it inside sometimes. I knew he loved me. And looking back, I can see how tired he was, how stressed out. I should’ve, in hindsight, been more worried about it, but at the time it just seemed like temporary thing. I have wondered, many times, if he wasn’t dying before my eyes and I just didn’t see it. He hadn’t been himself for months, but we both thought it was just work stress. Maybe even if I had there was nothing I could’ve done. I don’t know. But he was his own man, and did what he wanted. It was one of a million things I loved about him.
We spent the last 2 Memorial Day weekends together at his place. It was a wonderful trip. They were all wonderful, because he was a wonder to me in so many ways. This Memorial Day, the holiday will be more poignant, and truly a time of memories. That trip was the last time I laid eyes on him in person. The last time I held him. The last time I talked and laughed with him in the same room. The last time we shared a meal. The last time we touched and made love. I was crying as I said goodbye to him and walked through security at the airport, never imagining that it was our last visit. I’m crying now.
God, I miss you so much, Sweetheart.
This week I’ve been so busy, with the new puppies, with dealing with my car, which is totally on the fritz, and trying to prepare for company. My folks are visiting this weekend, for the first time in years. We have had our difficulties, and the fact that this visit is happening at all is a victory for all of us in overcoming that. And I hope that their being here will keep me busy and raise my spirits. But I don’t know that this feeling will go away entirely; it may just be postponed. Because this is not how the weekend is supposed to go, with me entertaining guests here. I’m supposed to be in California, exploring the state at his side, holding hands except for when he has to switch gears.
And I’m not. And I just don’t know if I can ever be okay with that. It’s reality, and I deal, but it’s hard. It just makes me so sad. I ache for him.