Timothy

Thirty-four years ago today my husband and I were married in Cody, Wyoming, before a Justice of the Peace who, for reasons unexplained, had a painting of the back end of a donkcy hanging on the wall behind him as he read us our vows. It took a lot of effort on our part not to laugh but we managed and after the "ceremony" we went out and inadvertently had the worst meal of our lives. You might think that such a comically sad start would not bode well for us but not so -- we had more than our fair share of very, very happy years together before he died on May 4, 2004.

If you had asked me on May 5, 2004, if I thought I'd survive I probably would have said no. In fact, at that point I was relying on the poetry of W. H. Auden to pretty much sum up the way I felt:

"The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good."

But here I am, nearly nine years later and while I'm feeling pretty good, I'm still wondering how I've made it this far without him. He was, as Auden wrote, "My North, my South, my East and West".

I have so many treasured memories of our years together and so many things to smile about that I can't complain and he certainly wouldn't want me to. He told me once that I had "moxie" when he was trying to talk me through a difficult task (actually climbing a mountain in Montana for a geology class), and I can still hear the encouragement in his voice. "You've got moxie -- you can do it" got me up the mountain and will help me get on with my life. I'm always going to regret that he isn't here to share it with me, but I will never regret a moment of the life we did share.