The running marriage joke is men never remember wedding anniversaries.
In our case, I was the one who’d remember at the last minute.
In his techie, geeky way, Den configured the date we were married, September 17, 1983, in some base language or mathematical equation he used daily… for something.
He’s not here to remind me anymore… which is why I’ll never forget it… or stop counting.
Today would have been our 37th anniversary, but instead, it’s my second without him.
The photo is from the last anniversary we “celebrated” – our 34th, with a surprise dinner from our three children. We should have known something was up as David, Drew, and Lindsey were rarely in Tucson at the same time. 😀
Ironically, the next two times we would all be together were for Den’s mom’s funeral… and then his.
The last seventeen months feel like an eternity and yesterday at the same time.
Platitudes like time heals all wounds or it will get better in time are false, useless and should never be spoken again.
The only one that is true is life goes on… and we have to go with it.
Happy Anniversary, My Love.