My friend Melanie sent me the link to her wedding pictures. It was fun to see pictures of her and Dean so happy. It also reminded me of our wedding and the anniversaries that are now forever over. Time makes things easier but I am still coping with the daily reminders of what will never be. It’s the little things that get to me the most. Andrea and I shared everything – big and small, important and of little consequence – we talked about everything. Every time something happens in my life the first inclination is to tell Andrea. Only now every event loses its meaning because the most important person in my life isn’t there to appreciate it.
It’s sort of like the old philosophical riddle: If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? My own personal equivalent is: If Andrea isn’t there to appreciate it, does it really matter? This sucks. I want my life to have meaning again. I want to share with her again. Once again I find myself in a doleful frame of mind with nothing but a future of self-pity and emptiness in front of me. And once again I find myself returning to the only thing that keeps me going (for now); planning for a future purposely created to set an environment of self-re-creation and re-invention. I hope this makes sense.
Every Thanksgiving after her cancer diagnosis we had a special celebration for just the two of us; usually a good bottle of champagne and chocolate (one year we celebrated in the morning with bacon and champagne). We toasted her survival of another year and counted our blessings. Each year she made me promise that if she died first, I must marry again. Looking back on those moments now, I realize that it is slowly becoming easier to believe I can live up to that promise.
It’s sort of like the old philosophical riddle: If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? My own personal equivalent is: If Andrea isn’t there to appreciate it, does it really matter? This sucks. I want my life to have meaning again. I want to share with her again. Once again I find myself in a doleful frame of mind with nothing but a future of self-pity and emptiness in front of me. And once again I find myself returning to the only thing that keeps me going (for now); planning for a future purposely created to set an environment of self-re-creation and re-invention. I hope this makes sense.
Every Thanksgiving after her cancer diagnosis we had a special celebration for just the two of us; usually a good bottle of champagne and chocolate (one year we celebrated in the morning with bacon and champagne). We toasted her survival of another year and counted our blessings. Each year she made me promise that if she died first, I must marry again. Looking back on those moments now, I realize that it is slowly becoming easier to believe I can live up to that promise.
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