Tuesday October 27th will be my wedding anniversary. Again.

It would have been 14 years of wonderful, beautiful marriage.

Instead, we only got 4 years and 9 months.

Now this is the part where I tell you all how I feel like a broken record when I come here every single year and write about the complex emotions and grief that happens during my wedding anniversary. I think its gotten to the point now where even saying that I sound like a broken record sounds like a broken record. But, this is widowed life. We deal and we cope and we adjust and we carry the weight of loss around like a wet blanket, settling down with it in the night.

This year, I am already feeling the intense sadness of the wedding anniversary creeping in. As Ive said many times in here, I never quite know what to do with that day. Nothing feels good and nothing feels right. When its your wedding anniversary, and your husband is dead, that just really sucks. There is no making that better or sugarcoating it. Its just incredibly sad and heartbreaking. Yes, I can feel grateful that he loved me and I loved him, and that his life and love and death have shaped and changed me forever. And yes, I can look back on the memories of that day, and smile and laugh, and cry too, and know how incredibly fortunate I am to have lived and experienced that amazing day with family and friends and love.

But the truth is, none of that helps on that day when Im feeling lonely because that day is about US and its ONLY about us, and he isnt here, dammit. He isnt here. Sitting alone with the knowing that he isnt here and its our anniversary, just makes me feel so very sad.

I think on Tuesday the 27th, I will rest, I will do lots of nothing, and I will reach out to my widowed community , maybe do a Facebook Live video or something. I think I will need to talk with people who get it, but I will also need solitude. I need to remember that day, and him, and us, and have it acknowledged and not pitied or talked about in a condescending way. I will need my tribe.

None of this is easy. It never will be. And I will never stop missing him, as long as I keep breathing, and maybe even longer.