It was my parents 54th wedding anniversary today. That's a long time. I called them on the phone. It was too snowy for them to go anywhere today. They said it wasn't a big deal. They'd had a lot of anniversaries and they could celebrate this one on another day. I told them I couldn't comprehend how long that is. Then I told them that I said to Keith the other day, "Wow, can you believe we've been married almost 18 years?" I told them it made him sad--not us, not our anniversary, just that our marker for how long we'd been married was gone. Ian. My mom was sad and quiet for a minute. She didn't know what to say--but she did. She said, "Our measuring stick is gone too, Michelle." It's an odd thing to share with my mother. We talked about how events are remembered by where you live and how old your kids are.
My brother Stan, who was 15 the last time I saw him, would be 54 the end of this year. I don't remember much about him, which is horribly sad. I don't remember much about the months after his death. I know the family isn't whole without him, just like ours isn't whole without Ian.
There is a great, bright spot. It will be again.
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