Today would have been Drew’s birthday. His 50th. Yikes. I always know I’ve come a long way in my grieving process when I’m awake for an hour or two before it dawns on me, “Today would have been _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ .” (fill in the special occasion of your choice). In the early days, months and years….I’d live in dread of the upcoming holiday/ anniversary/birthday, etc. Eventually, I didn’t live in dread, but what would happen was almost worse. Because I’d be going along, living my life…aware that one of these special days was approaching, but not really focusing on it. Then…BAM! ZOWIE! it would suddenly be before me and I’d just fall apart.

It was painful to realize I was beginning to forget.

When you lose the man you love, the passing of time can heal…but, conversely, it puts more distance between you and him. It makes your life together feel less and less real. The reality you shared gets farther and farther away. It’s like hopping in your car and driving. You could stop….but you know pulling over will get you nowhere. But you also don’t really want to keep driving, because that beautiful mountain behind you is getting smaller and smaller in your rear view mirror. And you don’t want it to disappear. You don’t want to forget. Not the smell of his hair or the touch of his hand or the way his cheek felt so moist and delicious right after he shaved. Not the way he laughed or kissed or danced with you in the kitchen.

I was going to put a photo of Drew up here….but I chose this one instead.  Because this was the embodiment of him….”Hot Dogs 30 cents.” A vintage treasure that he found while hunting around some antique shop.  Finding that hot dog sign gave him the same level of unadulterated joy  and deep satisfaction that other men get from catching a 200 lb tuna…or selling 500 shares of a hot stock right before the market drops.

That fabulously silly hot dog sign hung in our kitchen in Massachusetts years ago, where we were a happy family of 5.  Now it hangs in our kitchen in Maine, where we are a (slightly less) happy family of 4.

It’s there because I love it…but mostly it’s there because I don’t really ever want to forget that beautiful mountain that’s behind me in my rear view mirror.  Even as I zip down the highway with my sunroof open…risking yet another speeding ticket.