Note: all words in italics are to Chuck. Non-italicized words give context or explain things

My love, my Chuck,

I am writing to you again, especially tonight, on the eve of the date my Mom delivered me to this world 65 years ago. My last birthday was my 63rd back in 2020, with you. I have nothing to celebrate and no one wants to get older. Anyway, today is a grief day — began with a gorgeous sunset last night you would have loved. Then more grief — I miss me.

What?

Of course I miss you, my love, every day. Especially on this Canadian maritime adventure. We used planning for this trip to get your mind off the fatalism you were feeling — when you knew (and I was in denial) — that while you would try as best you could, your life was going to be shorter than either of us had planned.

Inside info for my close circle who read this blog: contrary to what I posted on Facebook, I am really having a tough day today. My emotions are wildly raging; tears fell often; it is just a tough, tough, day.

Why? I think because the particular experiences I had today were Chuck’s strongest dreams. Also, I miss the me I was when we were an “us.” Read on… it gets better at the end, I promise.

Chuck, I miss me. I miss the guy who lived with his husband and enjoyed a life together. It’s the “not together” part that I miss most. Especially at restaurants when I have to ask for a table for one.

I miss me. I miss the guy who was full of energy, happy, joyful, and funny (well, I tried). Seems like my reserves of these emotions were sapped completely when my best half was torn from me and have not been regained.

I miss me. I miss the guy who was the consummate multi-tasker. These days I’m lucky if I can remember to pull my socks on before each boot without making a list. Endless lists. Lists drive me nuts because they remind me that my mind isn’t complete and probably will never be.

I miss me. I miss the guy who could evaluate and make decisions well, quickly, and with good results. I get mad at myself for dithering, questioning, and *not* making decisions. I get mad at checking back with “me-myself-and-I” ten times before finally doing something. I hide my indecisiveness, but trust me, it’s there.

Of all things, the “missing me” part of the grieving process is least understood by someone who hasn’t lost a spouse in a healthy, vibrant, loving marriage. I’ll leave it at that… the “club” no one wants to join.

Chuck, it is rather poignant that today I took the ferry from Nova Scotia to New Brunswick. You talked about that a lot and were really looking forward to it. You remembered the ferry from Richmond BC (near Vancouver) to Victoria, Vancouver Island, and were thinking this would be about the same. (It was… very smooth and efficient.)

Of all the places you wanted to see in the Canadian Maritimes, Saint John was all you talked about. You named the streets, buildings, and sights you wanted to see.

Photos below, my love, do not do your dream full justice — BUT — I AM HERE. I am living this dream in real time. I am loving it — I am joyful — some of the “old Rocky” has returned because I want it to be; I want to enjoy this experience; I want Moose to enjoy it too (he is!); and most of all, I want the part of me that I miss to be acknowledged in my grief. Get that part of the grief fully realized, then I can live forward a bit more; a bit better; a bit more energetic; a bit more organised.

Life is short: live forward as a new me, and be kind to the old me left behind. Knowing that the “me” I once knew isn’t here any more, I acknowledge it and am more ready to live forward in my life. (Told you the end would be more positive — thanks for reading!)