March 1 was Ralph's birthday. He would have been 71. He wanted to spend his 65th birthday in Paris but he never made it. Instead we had a special dinner and cake at home, and two days later he entered the hospital for his stem cell transplant.
I remember other birthdays--dinners out, cake and candles, laughter. I wish we'd had more.
Wednesday I had dinner with the chaplain from M.D. Anderson. Her name, aptly, is Hope. We invited her to speak to our Death, Dying and Dessert group (Yes, there truly is such a group here, and it's great). I hadn't seen her since she spoke at Ralph's memorial service, and she told me Wednesday how much she had enjoyed getting to spend time with him, how interesting he was to talk to, what a nice guy he was. Exactly what I needed to hear this week of memories. It brightened the rest of my week and made me realize how fortunate I am to have spent 37 plus years with Ralph. Again, I wish there were more, but the memories keep me going, and I guess if they're all I can have, they're enough.
2 comments:
Oh, Thelma! Your post certainly stuck a chord with me. The song that accompanies your blog is the very one that was played at my father-in-law's funeral. MEMORIES. How incredible. How important. How vital. Hugs, Anne
Anne, thanks for your sweet comment and for stopping by.
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