This

I stopped writing about grief after the second anniversary of my husband’s passing – I stopped writing about it but I didn’t stop grieving.  I’ve been trying to get back into my life, trying to focus on now and live in the moment but I haven’t been that successful – trying to ignore something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

I don’t rail against grief like I used to, I whisper.  It doesn’t accompany me everywhere I go but I do let it take my hand from time to time and escort me down the path toward a heart that’s still broken.  It’s there, in the heartbreak, that I find I’ve only been fooling myself – the grieving isn’t over, I don’t think it will ever be over. 

Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary – the third one I’ve acknowledged without him.  He is in my every thought tonight; the young man, the seasoned one, the father of my children, my love, my friend; and I’m missing him like crazy. 

I am thankful for the years we had together, thankful for the memories we made.  Tonight I’m letting those memories lead me back forty-two years to the night before the rest of my life.  I had no clue where the adventure of the morning would take me, no clue that forty-two years later I would be sitting in the quiet of an evening wanting to take that adventure again.

I’d do it all again even knowing… this.