I’ve been thinking a lot about the last 25 years of my life with Joe. So many wonderful memories, and some not so great ones too. We certainly didn’t have the perfect marriage, but we were perfect together. We were the epitome of peanut butter and jelly, cookies and milk, peas and carrots. Joe was always the lover, never the fighter. I was the opposite. We learned along the way how to resolve our differences without tearing “us” apart. We loved each other with everything we had.

I wouldn’t change a thing about all the years we were together. That man was the greatest love of my life. Even before cancer, he taught me to stop pushing towards what I thought our life should be and relish in what it was in the moment. He taught me how to see the world from his point of view. He loved the simple things in life, like amazing sunrises and a Braum’s strawberry milkshake. Joe always made me feel safe. And he always made me feel loved, even when he was mad at me.

When your husband dies you regret all of the little things. Like every time you rolled your eyes at his next crazy idea, or when you got so pissed off at him about something really stupid, or when you told him he had probably had enough beer. You regret not hugging him more every day and wish your last words had been more profound than the two of you discussing the arthritis in your hands.

You regret blaming your allergies to get out of sitting at a car show all day.

I could spend the rest of my life beating myself up about all the things I did wrong, but I’m pretty sure my Joe would come back to haunt me if I did. Instead, I’m thankful he came into my life and so grateful he chose me. I was truly the luckiest woman in the world to have him. I’m keeping all of the memories of our beautiful life together locked up safely in my heart.

If I could do it all again, even knowing how it would end, I’d love him anyway.