He’s still my home

Do you ever hover over that “look back on your memories” post on Facebook, contemplating whether you should click or not?

Today I clicked. Most of the time I don’t look at my memories. I’m glad that I documented our lives in that way, so I can go back and reminisce when I want to. But most days I don’t want to. It’s just too hard to relive a lot of what we went through, too painful to recall the fun we had, too difficult to see my late husband on ordinary days doing ordinary things.

But today’s memory, that trip, was worth remembering. Five years ago today we were in Florida. We were celebrating Joe’s life-saving surgery that rendered him cancer-free for the second time. It was a beautiful trip. A JJ Grey concert in Orlando at the House of Blues, a few days at our favorite beach, followed by a drive up the coast to Jacksonville for another concert, JJ’s New Year’s Eve celebration.

We were relaxed for once. Two major surgeries, countless minor ones, and eighteen rounds of chemotherapy had beaten Joe down physically, but we were on such a high after his liver resection. Even though there were six more rounds of chemo coming, we were certain he had beaten cancer once and for all.

He was grateful, and so was I. He was also so tired, and so was I.

We woke everyday slowly. Savoring the quiet. I can still hear his heartbeat as I laid my head on his chest each morning. The fact that he was still with me then was a miracle in itself. We thanked God for the beautiful sunrises each day. Joe would stand on the beach breathing in the ocean air so deeply, as if his exhale would rid his body of all the trauma he’d experienced. We rejoiced in that peace and let all the bad roll back out with the tide. We held hands everywhere we went. We laughed louder than ever. We flirted with each other, like teenagers almost, just starting out. I remember meeting other fans at one of the concerts. They asked if we were newlyweds because we couldn’t let go of each other.

We met so many new people on that trip. We ate all the food, drank all the drinks, and savored every single moment together. We had just walked through the hardest battle any couple could walk through, and we came out stronger on the other side. My respect and admiration for my husband grew exponentially. He was the strongest person I’d ever known. I didn’t know it was possible to love him anymore than I already did. But it was possible.

Over the years, we had become those people who didn’t ring in the new year with big celebrations. Usually, we went to bed long before the ball ever dropped. I don’t remember a lot of kisses at midnight. But that year, that trip, I remember THAT kiss at the Florida Theater in Jacksonville at the stroke of midnight. It was a kiss that said “we made it”. There was so much hope in that kiss.

We came home with a fresh appreciation for how precious each moment truly is. We came home with a bond so strong it couldn’t be broken by anyone or anything. Not even his unexpected death less than four years later could break it.

And now, as another new year approaches, it’s another year my Joe will never see. Five years since that trip, fifteen months since he passed away. Even though I’ve cried millions of tears, I’m so grateful for the memories. No matter how hard they are to replay in my mind, they fill my heart with so much joy.

I was truly the luckiest girl in the world. I had the most beautiful man, and we made our life amazing together. He was my home.