The Random Visit
Yesterday, June 27th, would have been my 56th wedding anniversary. If my wife had lived. Unfortunately, she passed away two months after our fiftieth in 2020. It’s strange the day of the anniversary should have passed unnoticed, while the day after brings back a flood of memories and one or two tears. But that’s the way grief works. When it first comes to visit, it sits with you all day, every day. Then gradually you grow apart, until finally you’re only bumping into one another at random times, in random places.
I think the 28th did it this time, because I used to jokingly misremember our anniversary as being on the 29th. I have no idea why I thought that was funny, but she put up with it as long as the morning of the 27th arrived with a card and a present, which is what I managed to do with one exception. Luckily, it happened well into the marriage and there were extenuating circumstances, so we got past it, but I felt bad all day. And now that I think about, maybe that’s why my psyche got pinged on the 28th this year. Although, I don’t think forgetting your anniversary when your spouse is gone counts, but maybe it does.
Again, that’s the weird thing about grief and memory, the unexpectedness of it all, the randomness. But on occasion, it’s a nice way to start the day, especially on a day like today when the morning is cool and the air is sweet. It makes the memories sweet and brings back memories of the fine mornings you had together. And I think for breakfast, I’ll have grits with an egg because that was our Sunday morning breakfast when she was alive.