Throughout all the years of my marriage, my dear one never forgot our wedding anniversary. Often I forgot, but not once in all those years did he.
This past year, from July 21, 2009 until now, it seems I can't forget the anniversaries of my life.
I met my husband on the Fourth of July. We had our first date. This past weekend I remembered.
We had a blind date. I was not expecting much. I had sworn off men and knew this guy would be a loser like so many I'd dated since graduating from college.
But, boy was I wrong.
We "grew" on each other that beautiful summer day. At first I was not impressed with the tall, lanky man, his blond hair, his easy smile and teasing ways. He made me furious when he left me alone while he played guitar and sang for a bevy of beautiful young women gathered around him like he was something special.
But when he came back to me, he was mine for the next six hours. And during those hours I completely changed my mind.
One might think we had a particular passion for patriotic holidays. The following year we married on Flag Day.
Last month was our wedding anniversary. This weekend was the anniversary of our first date and our falling in love. Such sweet memories only make these days harder to bear alone.
Others don't think about what we, who have lost half of ourselves, feel on such days. We don't call our friends and weep. We stay home, pour out our feelings on paper or into a computer so we don't make others feel uncomfortable. We stay up late and watch the Capital Fourth and the birthday celebration of Pete Seeger. We listen to Joan Baez, the idol of our youth, lift her still glorious voice singing, "Where Have All the Flowers Gone," and we remember.