This past weekend marked the first anniversary of my widowhood. That is a real word and state of being! The sadness with lumps in the throat and tears come much less often now. My oldest daughter, Val (“murisopsis" to her Xanga friends) came down to be with me. She kept me occupied and too busy to dwell on sad memories, but we did talk a lot and shop a lot too. My daughter said this year was not only a celebration of our nation’s birthday but really a celebration of Independence Day for Daddy too….freedom from the pain and chains of this earthly life. The last day his life was July 5th. I’d spent the night before at his bedtime, holding his hand and talking to him about our half century plus of life together. Those final hours of our life together are a permanent part of my heart and memory now.
On my kitchen table is my mother’s hundred year old antique glass pitcher filled with blue and pink hydrangia from the new bush in the shade garden and Shasta daisies from the church altar bouquet in memory of my husband. A bouquet of red carnations and fern are next to his ashes….and like the Betty White character “Rose” on the Golden Girls, I find myself talking still to my departed husband every day. I suppose this will gradually cease as time passes.