Yesterday would have been Bob and my 13th wedding anniversary.
What was most remarkable about yesterday was that no one remarked on it. I say this not to make anybody feel bad, I have always felt that anniversaries are for the couple and not for anyone else to remember, but simply to make an observation. Of course, I did tell Henry and Arthur what the day was.
"Oh, wow," was Henry's response. I give him credit for trying.
On the first anniversary after Bob died I went out to dinner with my parents and some friends. When I returned to my new home, with boxes still unpacked, I sat in the big chair in the sun room and opened an incredibly thoughtful gift from one of my friends. She had stolen the newspaper clipping of the recipe for "Portuguese Fisherman's Stew", the last meal Bob made for friends before he became too sick to cook, and she had it framed.
Sitting in the sun room staring at that recipe I wept imagining Bob standing at the stove stirring the bubbling stew with one hand and studying that slip of newspaper in the other. I suddenly found myself in a panic because I could not remember the sound of his voice.
It had only been 5 months and I had already forgotten the sound of his voice?! How long until I couldn't remember what he looked like , or what it felt like when he held me?
Thankfully, I think that one night was just a temporary freak out. Five years later I am sitting in that same sun room in the same big chair and I am able to hear the sound of his gentle voice; "Happy anniversary, sug." (short for "sugar")
And I remember clearly how it felt to kiss him 13 years ago on that bright sunny day, when our whole lives were in front of us and anything was possible.
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