I've just come back from my company's conference banquet. Every year Janell and I would have a conversation about whether she wants to attend this information technology-based dinner - a conference facility dinner of overcooked chicken and a mushy vegetable, followed by a techie guru talking about the future of mobile phones. This stuff was always interesting to an early childhood - elementary principal, right? And as I sat alone at the conference, I couldn't really focus on the keynote speaker - I kept thinking about how much fun (?) we had reaching the decision: does she come with me, or do I go alone? But this time there was no decision - I was alone and it hit me right in the heart.
The second little thing that has been building is not really a little thing - I think it's a sign of a major life change. I brought home another set of cardboard boxes from the office today and put them in our closet along with several others I had brought home several weeks ago. The boxes will eventually be filled with Janell's clothes, that will be donated to the women's shelter at the WCA (formerly YWCA). I will wait until the kids go through their Mom's personal clothing before I do anything, but soon ("soon" being a relative term) I will place the everyday articles (blouses, slacks, simple sweaters, etc.) into the boxes.
There is an everyday little thing that reminds me of my loss - I place the small piece of gold around my neck with the words "our journey begins. . ." and July 17th, 1993 on the other side. This was Janell's wedding gift to me. The second piece of jewelry I place around my neck is our merged wedding rings, bonded in concentric circles. They are daily reminders of our marriage and our love, and it's so bitter-sweet.
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