February 10, 2011

Today, on what would have been the fourth anniversary of our wedding I went to the beach with another man. There was no outward sign of what this day meant, how it had been the celebration of your life – your living wake; your opportunity to see all your friends together one last time (as I would, soon enough) and be the center of attention – even though that was not something you often strove to be. There was no indication at all except for the tight knot in my stomach and the smoldering fear that I was missing something important. A pain in my body that just went away now knowing what I had been missing as I woke in the middle of the night remembering what February 10th meant...February 10th!

This day was cold, windy, crisp and diamond clear, a gorgeous winter day at water’s edge. Making it past the mounds of ice that threatened to block access was easier than it looked with a steady, warm hand to guide me - a simple pleasure – but one I had not often experienced with you. And once there the choppy bay sparkled in the February sun – surprisingly warmer than expected. The sense that winter was passing. The sky – oh the sky was so blue and without a cloud. You would have preferred an overcast day – better for the camera lens – flat light a photographer’s dream.

But this was a day you would have marveled at. And as was my role – I would have groused – whining of the cold but secretly delighted to be with you wherever you wanted me to be. You would have strolled the beach and salt marsh with your camera in one hand – seeing the world as only you could see it through that incredible artist’s lens that shaped your life. You were most alive, at least I thought you were, when you had a camera in your hand, capturing images that no one else could see until they printed out on paper.

You would have been far away from me. Too preoccupied with your visions to hold my hand on an icy patch or see that my ears were turning blue. I was there – always there, at the perimeter of your world – waiting for instructions, waiting for the action to shift to me - a frustration that needed to be smoothed away; a shim under a shaky chair, a road grader making the travel easier. You knew I was near, lurking, waiting to be called in for my part – making life bearable for you.

But this day felt different, perhaps because for the first time I was unaware of your presence in my life. This wasn’t a trip to remember you, or feel the power of your influence on me or just try to get closer to my devastated life with you. No, this day was not about you – or even me and you. I sucked in the freezing cold air into my lungs like I had been holding my breath. Seeing familiar things I never saw before in a place I’d never been to – again.

Today, on what would have been the fourth anniversary of our wedding I was finally, nearly bearably without you.