Happy Anniversary

 19,358 days ago, Bob and I got married.  53 years.
I've celebrated seven of them alone now.  That's hard for me to grasp. I'm slightly horrified, knowing there will be more, that I keep getting farther away from my time with him.

I don't remember celebrating most of them.  We'd wish each other happy anniversary, of course, and usually I would cook a steak.  Sometimes there were trips - big ones to England, Alaska and Italy.  Smaller ones to Pensacola (history tour), Panama City Beach (Seaquarium), Jacksonville (beach and zoo) or even to spend the night at Wakulla springs.  There was the year that we just went and wandered around Lowe's (strange, but he really enjoyed it, just looking at stuff and we talked about how we could use it, and had ice cream afterwards).

The one that really hurts. 2018, our 45th.  When I glibly posted on FaceBook "45 years.  So far, so good."  The last innocent one.

And it will forever bother me that I don't remember our last one, the 46th.  He had started his in-town treatments the very end of July, so it was in August that we were learning the rhythm of going to the clinic,  I was learning how to abide with his dietary restrictions, getting into the pattern of boiling water (he had to drink at least two quarts a day, and because we're on a well it had to be boiled first, so first chore of the morning was putting the kettle on and filling mason jars).  Making a few trips to Gainesville for tests.  Our anniversary sort of fell through the cracks.

You would have thought that we would have marked it, made it special, because we knew it would be our last one.  Thing is - we didn't.  We knew that he was going to go through hell, but it never occurred to us that he wouldn't survive.   I have heard about widows whose husbands left behind notes and letters, trying to give helpful advice.  Bob didn't do any of that - he thought he would be coming back.  We thought we'd have more anniversaries.

Happy anniversary.
I love you
I miss you
Thank you