The other day, a Facebook memory popped up in my feed from 2017, two years before Phil died. It contained two pictures: The first was of a couple on their wedding day—happy, dancing, celebrating. The other was of an elderly couple, holding hands as they walked down a sidewalk. The caption read something to the effect of: Some people people think this is what a marriage is, when it’s actually about this. When I had posted that meme seven years ago, I just took it for granted that someday we’d be that elderly couple walking down the road holding hands. When I saw it again, after five years of swirling emotions of loss and a world for me and my children turned upside down, I felt—stupid. Stupid that I even assumed I’d be fortunate enough to have my husband with me into our senior years. That was an emotion I wasn’t expecting. Even now, it seems I encounter new emotions regularly. I feel I’m a bit closer to wistful, but it’s going to take a little longer for me. I hope I get there soon.
The other day, a Facebook memory popped up in my feed from 2017, two years before Phil died. It contained two pictures: The first was of a couple on their wedding day—happy, dancing, celebrating. The other was of an elderly couple, holding hands as they walked down a sidewalk. The caption read something to the effect of: Some people people think this is what a marriage is, when it’s actually about this. When I had posted that meme seven years ago, I just took it for granted that someday we’d be that elderly couple walking down the road holding hands. When I saw it again, after five years of swirling emotions of loss and a world for me and my children turned upside down, I felt—stupid. Stupid that I even assumed I’d be fortunate enough to have my husband with me into our senior years. That was an emotion I wasn’t expecting. Even now, it seems I encounter new emotions regularly. I feel I’m a bit closer to wistful, but it’s going to take a little longer for me. I hope I get there soon.