girl drew

Nine years ago, to the day, I met this guy for our first date. Five years ago, to the day, I married this guy. Five months ago, to the day, I said my final goodbyes to this guy, thanking him for everything. If I could do it all over again, I would. Ramón made my life better in countless ways, and he often reminded me how lucky I was to have him. I balked at his remarks, but I knew they were true. Others might view today – and the coming holidays – with sadness for me, knowing things look vastly different. Though it’s true that life is unrecognizable this year, the past nine years (and counting) have affirmed Ramón’s viewpoint: I am pretty dang lucky. 

Last week, after checking my temperature, the dental hygienist led me to my exam room.  “How’s your husband doing?” she asked with the best of intentions. “He died,” I responded nonchalantly, voice as steady as can be. It’s impossible to know when the words will come out casually or when I’ll be caught off-guard – as though I’m the recipient of the news leaving my mouth. Grief is finicky like that.   Thanksgiving was the first big holiday without Ramón. The pandemic made things just unusual enough that his absence wasn’t as detectable as it might have been another year. However, based upon the quantity of leftovers, it was clear that Ramón and his appetite were missing. Despite the outrageous surplus of pumpkin pie, it was a good day.   I checked Ramón’s email today to see if anything important has trickled in, and I stumbled upon an email he sent while hospitalized in February. I am going to copy and paste a portion of it without editing anything, as much as th...