Last night I grieved.
It was a long and painful process and will no doubt have to be done again. And again. And again. Our future was going to be that bright!
This morning though, I need to celebrate.
I celebrate our hopes and dreams and plans. I read over his proposal again last night, and it thrilled me to read it again (yeah, he proposed the first time over MSN! He was away at the time!) and I could still see his face when he said what he said in the phoneshop.
I celebrate the plans for children that we had, the fun we had trying, the names we chose and the way he talked about them when they were here. The encouragement and love he gave me when they weren't again, and the strength in his voice when he held me as I cried, told me it would all be fine, that he loved me, he would always love me, and we would keep trying for as long as I felt I could. I celebrate his faith in me, in my body, in us, that we could talk about homebirths with confidence and understanding. I celebrate the things he shared about BG's arrival, and the joy with which he planned the arrival of our children.
I celebrate the love and pride he had in the AC, the school performances he was able to come to, the way he was so impressed by the school cup that the AC won the day before Rich died. I celebrate how protective he was of the AC, how he never let the AC hear him speak badly of his father, even though his father is an idiot at times. I celebrate the pictures I have of them playing, the games they enjoyed, the secrets that they shared and the love they had for each other.
I celebrate Ellie in the back garden, the faith he had in me to learn to drive. I celebrate every tray of shortbread he consumed, every "missing piece" from a plate of biscuits, every visit from the coffee fairies, every hour of being leant over a bonnet with him, every Landy show, every bike show. Every time we passed something on the road and one of us would go "Want that one!"
I celebrate the intimacy, the rightness, the completeness. I celebrate the way we enjoyed each others bodies, the way that it was never a chore, that it was never something we *had* to do. I celebrate the gentle touches on the way passed, having to "squeeze through" big spaces, every interrupted shower and bath, every moment that I looked up and found him just looking at me. Every "I love you", every "Where's my gorgeous darling?" everything.
Today I have the strength to choose to celebrate what were, as someone else has called them, the "Golden Years" of Rich's life. I am so lucky.