Today my husband would have been 42.
I’ve spent my day so far between feelings of complete sadness, remembering fun stuff we did that has made me laugh, and the total bewilderment of, “Is this really my life? How did I get here?”
Last year, I don’t even remember what we did on August 2. I do remember, though, that on the 24th (the day that he died) everyone asked me what I was going to do, and some suggested that I celebrate. That just felt so wrong to me. The 24th is a day that I will always passionately hate. It’s the day that took him away from me. But I felt that I had missed my opportunity to really celebrate his life, and that since August 2nd is the day that gave him to me; I should have had a celebration then. So today I’m celebrating.
|From his 40th birthday party, August 2, 2009|
He was kind. He was loving. He was manly. He was a great storyteller. He was funny, and loved to laugh. He took amazing care of me. He made the best grilled cheese. He was incredibly sexy. I could go on and on. I celebrate him today.