Today Was Supposed to be Our 10th Anniversary.
168 days after I lost my wife to suicide, I find myself on the dreaded 16th day of the 8th month of the year, our anniversary. The numerology is not lost on me as I fixate on every aspect of this void, more noticeable today than any other so far. Fitting also that it falls on a Saturday, my weekly reminder of everything I've lost and must endure.
We had our first date, ten years ago today. I was already head over heels in love before we finally had our chance to meet face to face on that day, but it was then that it became official. On this day seven years ago, we had our wedding.
Our true love fell 168 days short of a decade. 169 days ago, I was awaiting this day with glee and anticipation. There were always a few thoughts running in the back of my mind, trying to ideate how to make this the most special day of our lives together. It was the perfect springboard for our love to soar to new heights and find the rejuvenation we both craved.
The day is still young, and already it feels like a whirlwind, but so has this week in general. Today, the tears are flowing like the wine we should've shared today, and I anticipated this would be the case, but at least there are a few of those tears that aren't being shed from dread.
A few days ago, the death certificates finally arrived. The timing felt like an unnecessary omen on the approach of our 10th anniversary, and I considered it the most morbid "gift" I could have ever received. It added an extra large dose of acidity to this already sour week.
Yesterday, I was blessed with a little sugar that helps to swallow this bitter pill of a day. My wife worked for a state-run healthcare provider. She was a persistent and staunch advocate for raising mental health awareness and resources. They've recently opened a center for behavioral health and learning, and my wife worked very hard to support and promote the opening of the facilities.
My wife's former manager reached out to me yesterday, telling me they are seeking to install a plaque in her honor on the campus. It burst a dam of tears to hear this, but not the same tears I've been shedding for months. I cried profusely while I held grasp to the first truly happy feeling I have felt since her loss. It was the first sense of beauty I've had in months.
It meant so, so much to me just to hear that. For every mile of credit my wife deserved, she would usually take an inch, and I'm sure the last thing she would think is that anything would be done in her honor. It means so much to me because of this very reason, because if she knew, she'd have some renewed warmth in her heart like I have now.
It's not completely sweet, there are still some sour and bitter notes. The loss is still highlighted when my first instinct is to tell her these things with glee, so it forces things to sink in just a bit more when I have only silence to speak with. Still, I'm grateful to have something that helps to make this day easier to get through, if only just a bit. I'm grateful to have anything to be grateful for at all.
Hearing that news was not the gift I deserved, for no one should ever have to wear these shoes, but it was the gift I needed for the world I have to live in. It goes without saying that I'd much prefer to be on a beach somewhere with my one and only, and I would much prefer the surf 'n turf we would've shared today, but this is the cursed world I live in now, so this is the best I could hope for. My heart has been black and ice cold since my wife's heart stopped beating, and that was the very first time anything felt warm inside. For the first time in months, I have something to look forward to, and that's probably the gift I need most right now.
