Yesterday was a rough day in many ways. There was a tragic boating accident that unfolded here and we lost two members of our small community. Every death hits us hard, and this doubly so.
But July 30th is always a day I rue, for personal reasons. For it is the anniversary of another death, that of my first wife Janice. It is fifteen years since she died. Fifteen years. A lifetime ago, and yet only minutes.
Janice died of ovarian cancer, but there is always a danger when you say something like that that it becomes all about the cancer, not about her. It is a terrible disease but it looms so large in our imaginations that it swallows up all other concerns. She died in my arms.
She was so, so much more than her disease and her death. There is not a day that her smile doesn't pass through my thoughts. She lives in my memory, the good, the bad, the ordinary, and the extraordinary. I am a lucky man to have had her in my life. And I've said it again and again, but very few people find great love in their lives, and I have found it twice. I am indeed a fortunate soul.
There are some flowers floating down to the sea for my Sweetie, they are how I mark this day. One of my rituals. After I imagine a conversation with her, and bring her up to date on my year. Flowers in a stream, all of it, this life of ours.