The Gift of Today
And just like that I’ve lived my life as his widow longer than as his wife.
Today would have been our 27th anniversary. And while my new husband, Peter, was helping my bestie unload our borrowed kayaks after a day of celebrating their own 26 years of marriage just yesterday, I marveled at how in my heart I still celebrate my wedding to John.
It would have been 27 years. In what feels like a blink of an eye and at the same time a snail’s trudge through peanut butter, the nearly 14 years of his absence has passed. I see those years in the freckled face that now towers over me, once a sweet baby John got up to have midnight feedings with. I see it in the graduand’s stance, in robe ready to walk the stage – so hauntingly similar to the look of his own dad in his court robes. My heart feels gratitude, and knows he is here.
I recall the day we married with awe. We were so young. I was just 20, and only three years my senior, John had just been accepted to law school, and we were planning a move to Victoria. We were facing a life of growing up together and we knew it. But what we knew more was that our connection was precious, and our love was pure. We knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and we regularly joked at how “easy just wasn’t our style.”
Thirteen years wasn’t enough, John. But I sure am thankful for every one of them. Sure, there are regrets. I wish I hadn’t lost my shit on him when he came home late from work when I was on my last shred of parenting sanity. I wish we had taken more opportunities to travel and spent less time saving for countertops and patios. I wish we had made more love and fewer lists. But I don’t live in that regret. I live with gratitude.
I live in the memories that we share – 984 runs to secretly dispose of our garbage because we couldn’t afford the $2 tags, sharing muffins and coffee over a Globe and Mail, listening to Ed Bain and deciphering polka monster songs, and the mood-swing orchestra. Road trips, adventures, laughter, tears, fears. And even our “family honeymoon” that ended in losing you.
You were a good one, you led with your heart.
I recall the day he told me he didn’t believe he was meant to live a long life. It was the day Diana died.
We were driving through the Southern Alberta prairie geeking out on CBC radio, when the news broke. Waves of bizarre shock as we both noted that this was one of those “where were you when” moments. Sadness to lose such a brilliant light so early, tragically. We shared our worries for their children, not even being serious royal fans, we just felt for their loss. She was a good one, she led with her heart.
The narrow road cut through the sprawling green fields like a knife. “I think I am meant to die young.” His words were so bold, so certain, and yet, seemed as peaceful as the sky. There was softness in the whisps of clouds that painted the sky with gentle white swirls. Space. I listened. He asserted gently that he always felt that he would live a purposeful but short life, and so, he was glad that he was spending it with me.
That day we seriously discussed starting a family.
And so today I am love. I am love for all that was, I am love for all that is. I am deeply grateful for the memories and adventures, and even the shitty struggles in his absence. Today, as ever day, I hold John in my heart while I absorb the goodness of our boys, the gift of two amazing bonus kids, and my darling earth-husband here and now. While I never dreamed I would ever again be able to say it, I never imagined life could get this good.
The gift of today.
