We only got to celebrate this anniversary twice together, but I’m still going to celebrate with him in heaven.
Three years ago, he arrived at the Atlanta Airport, after a God led time rushing through JFK Airport and almost 24 hours of travel. I loved him so much and that love only grew over the years. It has continued to grow since his death as my broken heart has expanded its capacity to love.
He got his visa on January 8th, 2014, my birthday, and was in the country 9 days later. I wanted to have so many more days with him, but I’m grateful for every single day we had.
A year later, two years ago today, we were pregnant and spend the day putting together a baby registry with my brother and his wife. I’m grateful we were able to get pregnant so quickly and for every day he got to spend holding our baby girl and every minute we got to be a family of three.
Last year we spent the day cleaning out the basement after it flooded. I’m so grateful he did that, so that I don’t have a mess down there now. I’m so glad he found someone who wanted all of that stuff and that his generosity was displayed for me to embrace. Most of all, though, I’m grateful that we didn’t sweat the small stuff. The basement flooded, stuff was ruined, messes were made, but we were still happy and together.
Rather than mourn the loss of stuff, financial difficulties and setbacks, I’m grateful that we didn’t waste our three years of knowing each other worrying or complaining. I’m grateful for every brief moment of unselfishness when I did things his way and every moment of gratefulness when I thanked him for who he was and what he did.
I had some time this weekend of really and honestly weeping and asking why we didn’t get more days. Those questions are real and emotions important.
But today, I’ll chose gratefulness for the moments we did have and I’ll look for blessings, though they may be disguised.