Dearest Rachel –
Well… happy anniversary, honey. This is the third one I’ve had to live through without you, and while it doesn’t really get any easier, there’s this feeling like I’m slowly getting inured to the sensation. Of course, I can guarantee that I’m never going to forget the date, coming as it does on the heels of September 11th (which at the same time, manages to put my own loss into perspective, I suppose – after all, it’s not as if what I’m going through is exactly unique to me, so I really ought to just suck it up).
Speaking of which, I was scrolling through my news feed, as you know I do, and found someone in the comment section of one or another commemorative article decrying the fact that we’re still going on about this, twenty-two years since. Essentially, the commenter wonders how long we, as a nation (or at least half of it) is going to wallow in the “morbid grief” of it all – my guess is that the guy has never lost anyone he cared about, or never had anybody he cared about (in which case, he ought to be pitied rather than condemned, but for his trouble, he certainly got his share of downvotes and then some). For my part, I pointed out that the “morbid grief” stays with the people who lost loved ones forever, and so the anniversary will always be a sore spot for them for the rest of their lives; in other words, unless he expects to outlive every person that lost someone that day, he’d better get used to this. At the same time, I added that it served as a reminder that our country isn’t isolated from hatred, nor is it invulnerable to internal attack, making this particular event worthy of remembering at least once a year if only to remind us of that fact to snap us out of thinking “oh, it couldn’t happen here,” because it did, and if we’re not careful, it might yet again.
All of which is aside from the point of today. Today was supposed to be our special day; while September 11th guaranteed that I would never be ‘that’ husband who forgot his and his wife’s special day, it’s always been slightly annoying to have it forever overshadowed by this particular event. Then again, it could have been worse, insofar as we could have gotten married on the date of the attack… so there’s that. But it’s always going to get a little bit under my skin, nonetheless, and the pall cast by it leads into a fairly gloomy anniversary day, since I’ve no one to celebrate with anymore in any event.
Still, I’m going to try to lighten the mood by talking about this year’s number.
Now, I’ve just looked it up; it seems that the traditional anniversary gifts stop being listed on an annual basis after the 15th. Thereafter, it’s only considered special every fifth year. Granted, we didn’t give each other gifts according to the traditional schedule in any event – you wouldn’t have been interested in pearl last year, even if you were around for me to give one to you. Indeed, the last anniversary present we basically gave each other was that new shed in the back yard, which you only got to appreciate for a month before… well…
Darnit, I said I wanted to lighten the mood. Let me try again…
I mentioned that last year would have been our pearl anniversary, for all that would have been worth. Again, you were never much for jewelry and precious stones; sure, you had a sizable collection of earrings and necklaces, but they were for the most part costume stuff, not the real “bling” that, in certain circumstances, might have been worth more to certain malefactors than the neck they were hanging around. So an anniversary like that might have seen us doing something special, sure, but a gift of pearl? Yeah, not likely, apart from a certain off-color expression that I’m not going into here.
This year, by contrast, passes relatively unremarked upon, which seems a shame. Every additional year together ought to be considered yet another success, for one reason or another; every anniversary deserves its own celebration. But what comes to mind with the number thirty-one?
Hey, it would be a nice way to round out a fairly simple date night together, wouldn’t it? Go out to a reasonably fancy place for dinner, ramble about town (or the shopping center in which the restaurant was located, depending) and finish up over a couple of cones or sundaes, whaddya say? It’s not elaborate, by any means, but it has a certain vibe not unlike those days when we were just hanging out together in college and didn’t have all that much money to spend on special occasions; the effect is more nostalgic than cheap (although coming from such a frugal family as yours, you wouldn’t have seen ‘cheap’ as a drawback anyway, so much as simple prudence).
Granted, an anniversary in September isn’t quite as conducive to a tête-à-tête over ice cream as one in, say, June – summer is starting to tail off, with today being forecast to just barely reaching what we would consider to be a comfortable room temperature – but getting together over anything to celebrate another year together is something I only wish I could do these days. If Megumi was around, I might ask her if she was interested, but I have yet to figure out who she is – or if. So in the meantime, I guess this at least has the virtue of forcing me to stick to my diet.
In either case, keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 