On December 10th, 1950 my sweetheart and I were married. So, yesterday would have been our 69th wedding anniversary.
In another month I will be having another anniversary. This one not a happy one. It will mark 9 years since his passing.
I know that some of you are widows. And, you know what I am talking about. The pain does get a little less but it never goes away. As I posted a picture of us on facebook yesterday, I started to cry. Crying is good. It releases all those buried emotions, the ones you keep shoving back down deep inside. It cleanses the soul.
All I have are memories now. And, of course, my kiddos. Grown now... dang, most of them are getting old. Well, old like I used to think people of 50 or 60 was! Oh, wait a minute... all my kids are in their 60s now, no 50s. Not so much now as I am half way through my 80s. And, I don't consider myself old. Well, at least some days.
I never thought I'd be left alone at the end of my life. I always thought that we'd be like the picture below, two old people sitting on our porch just enjoying being together. And, yes, there would be flowers. Elbert got me a few florist flowers over the years but what I cherish and remember most is that, as he would stroll over our farm early in the spring, he'd often bring me one tiny little bluette blossom held so gingerly between his fingers. I'd find my thimble and put a little water in it and place it on my kitchen window sill. And, once he handed me a dried, curled up leaf... nestled inside was a wild violet that he had dug up down in the woods. Those things I remember.