June 1 in All Good Things

It's June 1 again. For the twelfth time since the morning I woke up to discover that the life of the man I loved had abruptly ended while I slept. This year was probably the best lead-up to the anniversary, but even so I kind of fell apart during the past few days. I guess it doesn't help having to attend the wedding of one of your best friends the week after having ended your own marriage, does it? I managed to survive the several hours of wedding and reception on Thursday night, but it was extremely tough. She was one of only four guests at my own wedding, and sitting there as a guest (among many) at hers, I was starkly aware of how hollow my marriage was. Our wedding day was one of the worst days of my life. I knew even then that I shouldn't be doing it, and I desperately didn't want to, but events had developed such that I couldn't get out of it.

I'm not sorry it's over. It's never really existed in the first place. But it still hurts.

Especially today, when I remember the man who I would have married, if only he hadn't been killed. The man who taught me what love was, taught me how to accept love, and how to thrive both loving and being loved.

I know I was lucky to have had him.

Anyway. Tel Aviv and Jerusalem and the Dead Sea await later this week, along with lots of laughter with friends and fascinating conversations and sheer and utter joy. And June 1 will be over for another year, so I can smile and make merry and enjoy the hell out of the life I've ended up with.