Today you would have been 50. I miss you so much, and still can't believe that you are not here with me.
I didn't do anything special to celebrate your birthday. I feel guilty about that. I didn't go to the cemetery, or do anything ceremonial with B (or D); I didn't light a candle or make a donation or even say a prayer. Several friends called, and I called Papa. I went to a Young Widow and Widowers Meetup dinner, talked about you and my grieving, wondered when I'll start coming out of this all-consuming haze of loss.
If you were still here, we would have gone to dinner with F and E. We might have taken a weekend trip, probably taking B with us. We would have had a lovely meal, two glasses of champagne and a bottle of wine, delicious dessert, and good togetherness afterwards. I would have bought you some sort of gift -- possibly lame-ass, but maybe inspired.
But you are not here. You are "in nature", "in the little animals that run around". You are in my thoughts and in my heart, and will always stay there, always 48, always safe.