I've been thinking about writing this entry for more than a week now. April 20th would have been our 32nd anniversary. I think about Melinda every day, but of course there are dates on the calendar that hold more significance than others. As a husband, the first part of the year was a minefield I had to navigate for almost 30 years. Valentine's Day was up first, then March 10th which was Melinda's birthday, and finally our anniversary in April. It was a gauntlet that I dreaded because I always felt like I couldn't live up to her expectations. She wanted grand romantic gestures that didn't come naturally for me.
So I tried in my own way to show her that I loved her. I decided at some point that the best way to do that was to make sure she was able to have whatever would make her happy. I wanted to give her the world, which is a large part of how we ended up in soul crushing debt over the course of many years. That one's on me, because I was our sole income and I paid the bills, so I knew realistically what we could and could not afford. In my desire to make her happy, I actually crippled our ability to realize bigger dreams and it caused problems in our relationship down the road. It broke my heart when I had to tell her that we couldn't afford the 25th anniversary vacation that I had promised her the year before, but we were up against the wall financially.
In the end, it was a terrible decision on my part to shoulder the burden of our finances. I believed that I was protecting her, when in reality I was hurting our relationship. I didn't treat her like an equal partner, but more like a protective parent. It's unbelievably difficult to realize that I can never make it right. If Melinda were still alive, we could go to counseling, learn from our mistakes (yes, I understand that she fell short as well), and have a stronger marriage as a result. That isn't an option now that she's gone. I can only hope that she can see the love in my heart, realizes that she was the most important person in my life, and is comforted by that thought.
I shared a little about our relationship to give you at least some small idea of the significance of the gauntlet I ran at the first of every year. Melinda passed away on February 10th, 2015, just four days before Valentine's Day, before the usual ordeal would begin. As difficult as I believed those dates to be when Melinda was alive, they were so much harder in the wake of her death. Each one of those days was a cruel reminder of just how badly I failed her. Particularly that first year, my mind was overrun with regrets and I had no way to apologize to her. As time has passed and I've received counseling, I realize that we were both at fault, but I find it impossible to completely let go of those regrets. Perhaps that's a good thing, though Should I ever decide to be in a relationship again, it's important for me to remember past mistakes, as I don't want to repeat them.
The one constant during those difficult first few months was Melinda's mother, Jean. I always liked Jean, but we weren't that close before Melinda passed. I know they loved each other, but because of reasons I'll never understand, there was a certain distance between them. During most of our marriage, Jean lived only a few minutes away, but unless it was a birthday or holiday, we didn't see her. Based on what I know now, I believe that Jean wanted her daughter to reach out to her more often, but I also know Melinda didn't think that Jean wanted to talk to her. When Jean did call, Melinda would remark about how short the conversation was, feeling that her mother was trying to keep the phone call as brief as possible.
But that's not the Jean I had the privilege to know over the next year. She was always there when I needed her. She was very supportive throughout the entire process and she deferred to me when it came to final decisions on Melinda's funeral arrangements. She was considerate and caring, and I wish that Melinda had known the same Jean that I did. We had dinner together almost every Wednesday night. We also spent many weekends together cleaning out her brother Paul's house that April when cancer took him (yes, a whopping two months after Melinda's funeral). There's so much I could tell you about Jean, but in short, she was a good friend and those are so hard to find. That's why it was a such a blow when she passed suddenly on February 14, 2016, just one year and four days after Melinda. I take comfort in knowing that if there's an afterlife, they are together again, but I do miss them both.
Valentine's Day will always be a little different for me now. It's a date I will forever associate with losing both the love of my life and her mother, who I grew to love and respect over a relatively short time. Melinda's birthday will always be a reminder that she's not here anymore. I don't think of her as dying at 47 years old, but dying exactly one month short of 48. I think of her age in relation to what could have been (what should have been). Our anniversary will always be a somber reminder of what might have been. I was proud of our longevity, especially with the current divorce rate. I must admit that I was looking forward to celebrating our 50th. I would have considered it a badge of honor since so few couples make it that far. Unless I marry immediately and live to more than 100 years old, I guess I better give up on that particular dream.
Giving up on one dream isn't an ending, though. At least, it shouldn't be. My goal is to embrace new dreams, whatever they may be. I love writing, and frankly I have rarely made the time to do so. Writing may be just one of the things that becomes a more important part of my life, though. The possibilities seem endless. It may not be the life I had in mind two years ago, but it can be a happy and fulfilling, but different version of my life. I'm still struggling, but beginning to see the light. A song was released close to Melinda's passing that resonates with me still. I can relate almost every line in the song to our marriage and her death, and I may go into detail in another entry. The song is Black Sun by Death Cab for Cutie. This one verse holds so much sadness and potential joy for me and it's my final thought for today.
There is an answer in a question
And there is hope within despair
And there is beauty in a failure,
And there are depths beyond compare
There is a role of a lifetime
And there's a song yet to be sung
And there's a dumpster in the driveway
Of all the plans that came undone
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