At work the other day I was chatting with one of the young ladies who works at the coffee shop across the way. I had mentioned my late husband in conversation and this girl, young enough to be my daughter, immediately expressed her sorrow for me and went on to tell me about her beloved stepfather who died five years ago. She said he had been her mother’s true love, and they all missed him so deeply. She said no one gets over the loss; our grief goes on, we just learn to live with it. She showed me the ring she wore that bore his name and expressed how much it meant to her.
I am fortunate to have many beautiful family and friends in my life. Today, though, I feel moved to express just how important all my widowed friends are to me. I know I would not be able to walk through my own life now without them.
I’m writing this the night before celebrating my third anniversary without Drew. By the time you read it, I will likely be somewhere in the middle of the day itself. I don’t have to tell any of you how surreal it feels to be here – celebrating our three years together after three years without him. It has a different kind of sadness to it, which is hard to put into words. Less sharp around the edges, easier to hold in my heart, but still sadness nonetheless.
Since he died, I have tried to do several things on our anniversary to make it a good day still: Do something to make myself feel special, Do something to make myself and him proud. If I can make this day about either of those things... I can usually still find the joy.