As her grand-daughter was at the cash register paying for her gown, she sat at my desk, and I began the small talk that's part of my job when people are waiting. She began to tell me how everyone in the group was related, and then went on to tell me quite a bit about her husband's sudden death ... twenty years ago. Thinking about weddings and marriage in a bridal boutique is inevitable. The chain from a grand-daughter's upcoming nuptials to a grandmother's wedding and marriage is shorter than the years would indicate. I could understand why this was on her mind.
Since yesterday was the second anniversary of my husband's death, I was, shall we say, a bit obsessed with the topic. My day had begun with a visit to the cemetery where I was pleased to find that someone else had placed flowers. I later found out that they didn't come from my in-laws. I love that other people still think of my husband. For a couple of days, I've been in the long, familiar dance of memories -- good ones that made me smile and then cry and painful ones that literally made breathing hard until the tears came in shuddering gasps. The worst are the questioning ones about his mental and physical health and what could have been done. Doing the PAD challenge has made this somewhat worse. I mine my interiors to write poetry, and almost everything I've written has this in it somewhere.
Two years ... I'm still working through the 27 years my husband and I had together. It dominates my thoughts. Compare two years to 27, and it's not much, but I don't want to be here in another twenty. I don't want this to be the subject that comes up with a stranger in a random conversation because there's a wedding in the family.