A dispatch from three years ago:
Today is April 22. It’s been nine months since Jim died.
I thought about him so many times today. Mostly while watching other travelling couples check into my hotel, or wandering the streets hand-in-hand. I thought about Jim when passing a cigar shop he would have loved. Eating lunch by myself at the museum. Hearing magical, unidentified bird calls in the park. Missing his interpretation of local history.
Dublin is full of pubs but I can’t go into any of them yet. Jim would be sitting there at the bar with a pint, cheerfully making friends with everyone around.
I was sad when I got back to my hotel room tonight and noticed the room attendant had removed one of the teacups, leaving just one.
Today is also nine months into my new life. A subtle and parallel track in the universe.
I forgot about being widowed many times today. While getting lost on twisted streets, studying my map. While admiring Irish wool sweaters, and red hair, and cute children. While stumbling across street musicians, and deciding to hang out on the sidewalk with thirty other happy people.
April 22 is also Earth Day, and apparently also Record Store Day. Importantly, it is a day in my life – it is also a day in yours. As they say in Ireland, I hope it’s been grand.