Saturday, August 27, 2022

Nigel would’ve been 58

Today would’ve been my Nigel’s 58th Birthday. There’s never a day I don’t think about him, of course, but his birthdays have always been the day I’ve been most keenly aware of how much I loved him, and how thankful I was to share life with him. That’s still every bit as true, except the sharing life part is now past-tense, filled with memories of happy times, his laugh, and that cheeky grin he had when he was joking mischievously—including when it was at my expense.

This whole widower thing is far harder that I ever would’ve/could’ve imagined, and the birthdays after he died have been among the hardest days, not just because I miss him so much, though I do, but because I miss not being able to spoil him on his special day. He always acted like his birthday was no big deal, and he told me that he enjoyed spoiling me on my birthday more than he enjoyed his own. But I also know how much he actually liked having his day remembered and celebrated—just without TOO much fuss.

I didn’t do anything to celebrate his day today. I didn’t have any small observance like last year, and there certainly was no party like the year before, 2020. Maybe that was a mistake: It turned out that this year, his birthday was particularly difficult for me, and I shed more tears than I had in a very long time. These days, it usually takes a specific trigger, not just me thinking about him, but today was different, and there were no triggers needed to set me off—it just happened. And that would make Nigel very sad. Maybe I was just over-tired? I had a short nap this afternoon and felt much better afterward. Still, maybe next year I’ll do something special on Nigel’s day, something with some personal meaning for me, for us.

I know I’ll always remember Nigel on his birthday, and that’ll mean remembering the good times—the good life—we shared, and I’ll honour the man I knew and loved: My husband, my best friend, my ardent defender, my advisor and confidante, my soulmate—my Nigel. I also know that whatever I do to celebrate his birthday, it’ll be without too much fuss, just the way he always wanted it. He’d be glad to be thought of on his birthday, and he’d completely understand that I couldn’t do otherwise.

Happy Birthday, sweetheart. Always.


Roger Owen Green said...

Whatever feels right, in terms of celebration, is right

Arthur Schenck said...

Yep, and last year I thought I got it exactly right. If I'd realised I might have a difficult time, I would've planned something. Next year, I will.