I tried to prepare for it. I expected to feel awful. But strangely, the overwhelming sadness did not consume me. I missed my husband and I missed my mother. But I had a special time that day thinking and remembering each of them.
My husband loved a bargain. Costco loved him. He stocked us well with paper towels, toilet paper, and anything else that he could. One day, he noted we were almost out of dryer sheets. My husband loved to do laundry. That was a miracle worth noting just by itself. He proudly plopped a huge package of dryer sheets into our cart. "These will last a life time," he said.
A couple of weeks after our anniversary, I was doing laundry, which I absolutely detest. As I reached for a dryer sheet, the memory of "these will last a life time," and my husband's sweet chuckle when he said something funny came back to met. I just sat down right there in the laundry room and cried like I thought I would have on our anniversary. It took me a while to get myself together.
While emotionally, I prepare myself for the big things like anniversaries, birthdays, and other special occasions; it is the little things that still surprise me.
One day during Mike's sickness, I worried that he didn't really get to make a "bucket list." He didn't get to travel to exotic places or do exciting things. It was really bothering me. And then I received a letter. It was from a dear sweet lady, Aunt Lee. She had taken to writing us when she found out about Mike's illness. I so looked forward to her letters. In this particular letter, she reminded me that it is the average, ordinary days which are extraordinary. It is the memories of those ordinary days that I remember and cherish. The greatest gift that you can give someone is your time and attention. And while I would have loved more, I am so thankful for the ones that we had.