As I lay here in bed, wondering why I can't go to sleep, it hits me - today would've been our fourth wedding anniversary.
Four years ago today, a 24-year-old me was rushing around, ecstatic that her wedding day had finally come. After seven years, she was finally going to be joined to the man she loved. Little did she know that fate had such a cruel twist in store for her.
I both pity and envy the Wanda of 2003. She didn't have a clue of what was to come, but she was also blissfully ignorant of it. I'm saddled with the grief, with the torment that comes from being widowed. At 26. After 18 months of marriage. While pregnant. I sometimes marvel that I've made it to 30 months.
I worry sometimes about myself, though. It's been 30 months; how come I haven't been able to watch our wedding video? Or get rid of his stuff? It's sitting in a garage for now, but why am I really holding onto it? Laziness? Perhaps a bit of that. But can it be something more?
Happy anniversary to me, I guess.