I am writing this just a week away from what would have been Chris' 65th birthday and it will publish the day after his birthday. I guess it's the extremely personal connection that makes birthdays so hard. I was surprised in the first year after Chris' death that Christmas was difficult, but his birthday was impossible. Both his children shared that it was incredibly painful for them as well. I know when his birthday comes up in a little over a week, it will hurt again. Possibly less than last year, which was a little less painful than the year before. But I can't get through the day without feeling that we were short-changed by him dying at such a relatively young age. As both his parents lived into their 90s, we truly expected to grow far older together. I never in my life expected to lose him at age 59.
During the course of a deep, loving relationship, there are so many anniversaries. There is the date of your first meeting, the date of your wedding, the date you moved to a new home, the date of a grandchild's birth, etc. Then there are the less joyful anniversaries. I remember the date we got the word that Chris had cancer, the date of his surgery, the date we were told the cancer returned, the date he was hospitalised after becoming dangerously ill after chemo, the date he went to the hospice for some medication adjustment, the date of the day he said goodbye to my daughter and our granddaughter for the last time, the date of his children's last visit, and, finally, the date of his death. Each and every anniversary brings different emotions to the surface.
The joyful memories of our first date or our wedding day are quickly followed by the sadness that he isn't here anymore. All the happy anniversaries are tinged with sadness. The sad memories diminish in intensity after time. But, still, anniversaries are difficult. There is simply no way to reach any of those milestones without tears. I doubt the tears will ever stop completely, but, like all the sadness attached to his death, in time I will start feeling the joy of having my life and heart touched by such a very special, kind, and loving man. But it was cruel of fate to take him from me. There was so much love left to experience together. And that's what grief is. As the sentiment says, grief is love with no place to go. Chris still comes to me in my dreams and I feel his presence around me. But it isn't the same. And anniversaries put a microscope on the loss.
All that being said, would I change anything? Of course, if I could, Chris would still be living. His birthday celebrates his presence in this world. Our first date was magical. Our wedding day joyful. All of them will remain highlights of my life. The sad anniversaries will never be forgetten. I just need to try to concentrate on the joy...
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The photograph here is another of Chris' botanical study photographs. A beautiful iris was in a bouquet we received and Chris found the form of the flower to be more interesting as it was dying. I'm not sure how he added the droplets of water. But for me, this is the perfect photograph for this blog. The flower is dying, but when it was alive it gave joy and fragrance and colour. It had to live in order to die. And that is what we need to focus on.
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