Today marks what would have been Bruce and my anniversary of being together. Had he lived, we would have celebrated 23 years together, based on our first date on June 15 in 2002. Instead, I’m looking at another anniversary that passed a couple days ago—the anniversary of his passing on March 12—three months gone.
I’ve learned several things in these three months:• Grief has no timetable. It’s not linear. I can have relatively happy and contented days and hours, only to see them crushed in an instant by a stray memory, a thought, a scent; the sound of his voice on voicemail. Yes, life moves on and that’s a blessing. While nothing will ever change my despair at his passing, with time marching relentlessly forward, it does get a little easier to bear, like a scar that continues to lighten and fade.• Who matters. Through the whole caregiving process and the witnessing of his rapid and horrible decline and then through his passing, I see who stepped up, who cared, who made an effort, no matter how small or large. I have no criticism in my heart for those of you who looked the other way, who couldn’t handle such a tragic narrative. I forgive you and understand you. I’ve been on your side myself and I know sometimes, it’s easier to simply look away, to move on with our own pressing concerns. But for those of who were there for me—I call you my angels. I won’t name you, but I won’t ever forget the love and comfort you doled out. Some of you surprised me because we didn’t, at least before this, have that deep of a connection. But you disregarded that depth and plunged in, anyway, providing support and compassion when I needed it more than you know. I thank you.• I have accepted Bruce’s death in my mind. I have yet to accept it in my heart. There’s a very primal, illogical, yet loving place deep within my psyche and my soul that still clings to the hope and the absolutely unrealistic belief that he’ll return. I imagine him walking through the front door, whole and healthy. The dogs go crazy, full body wags and much jumping, panting, and kissing. I am in a similar state. My belief that you’d return to me, that you couldn’t possibly leave me forever, is validated. I too shower you with kisses, hug you so hard I fear bones will break. I gesture toward the couch, telling you to make yourself comfortable as I head toward the kitchen to make all of your favorites for the best homecoming supper in the world. It was all a big mistake! Of course, you weren’t gone for good. At least this is something my heart ponders in both its darkest and brightest hours.• I am putting my faith, as much as possible, in believing that all will be well. My spiritual side reinforces this—it knows that there’s only one life, and that life is god (however you define that particular entity)—and god, or spirit, or light, or love, or the thing itself, whatever you call it—will provide, will allow for the best possible outcome. And I know that whatever the best is may not be what I expect, but it will be there for me.• I am transitioning into a different person. The person who would have celebrated that 23 years together with Bruce died along with him. While I honor and mourn that the anniversary will not take place this year, it represents a deeply-cherished era of my life, one in which we both changed and grew, and with both ease and difficulty, supported each other as moved forward in life. We stayed resolute in our desire to be a family, to be love for the other. I miss that. But at the same time, I have seen myself grow and change these past three months. I witnessed strength I didn’t realize I had, leaps I didn’t know I could make, and resilience I hope will lead me to a happy and successful era as the “new me.” Who that person is, I’m still working on discovering. But the blessing of this monumental sea change is clarity in trusting myself.And so, I tell Bruce today, “Happy anniversary, honey.” 

I mourn you. I love you. I honor you. You made a massive difference in my life and the ups and downs with you were given with no regret. Even as I recall some of our worst moments, I remain grateful we were there for each other, beleaguered, tired, unsure, but also joyful, committed, and hopeful.Wherever you are now, I hope you are at peace. I pray you’ve shed the trials and tribulations that awful disease visited upon your physical form. I want you to know that, even though you are no longer with me in this physical realm, you were and are deeply loved…and always, always, always, will be. #grateful #memories