Following are a few thing I will not be sorry to see passing out of my life with the year about to shed.
1. Fearing the IRS
2. The act of sneaking out the front door early on a Saturday or Sunday so as not to wake my sleeping husband and be forced to have a conversation I don't want to have
3. A car that smells like fish
4. Having to bear witness to angry fights on trains
5. Going to sleep in a rage with the person in the next room
6. The commute from E. 26th Street to W. 55th Street in Manhattan, particularly in the morning rush.
But no matter how thin you make a pancake, as the saying goes, it still has two sides. The following are a couple of items of beloved routine that I know I will miss with an ache that already hurts profoundly.
1. My husband's smell
2. The millions of pet names, nicknames, and variations of my name that he calls me; even the ones I thought I didn't like
3. The conversations we could have when he was his most vibrantly alive, funny, happy self
4. Summer weekends--start to finish
5. The way he loved to hear me sing
6. Being his wife.
Time goes on, and here again it goes. I will read this post a year from now, two years from now, ten. Bring on the miraculous, bring on the pains and the highs and the lows of being fully alive.
Blessings and love.
