The plan was to bring the remainder of Hubby’s ashes with me. But I forgot them.
Which means I have to return to Switzerland. Have to.
Today we hiked up into the mountains below the Matterhorn. Hubby would have loved it. The exercise. The beauty. The mountain air. This fabulous group of fellow trekkers.
I write this from a park bench in Zermatt, Switzerland at dusk. Population 5,000. Elevation 5,310 feet. Forecast of snow overnight. My kind of town.
Aspen leaves rattle overhead. A lovely old stone church sets across the cobblestones, bells chiming intermittently. And I am remembering back with full heart.
Hubby and I were married on this day under impossibly tall pine, fir, redwood in Northern California. The rain stopped long enough for the afternoon ceremony. And then picked back up after we were inside his parents’ ranch house with wedding guests and wedding cake and homemade ice cream.
I didn’t expect this day to be sorrowful — my first time commemorating Hubby’s birthday, our anniversary without him. And it wasn’t.
I expected it to be peace-filled, adventure-filled, laughter-filled. And it was.
Pretty sure they’re not tracking birthdays in heaven — that timeless place — so instead of wishing you a happy birthday and anniversary, Gary, I will say how grateful I am for the years we had together. For what you taught me with your selfless love. For how courageously you bore your cancer. For the children and consequently the grandchildren you gave me.
Counting my blessings on this day. Alone, but not lonely.
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