Yesterday was my 49th wedding anniversary – provided I’m still allowed to call it that given the other half the wedding died 26 years ago. Me, I don’t see why not. It was, after all, the day we were married, and my husband’s early demise doesn’t change that. Nor have I replaced him.
There were those (men) who suggested after his death that I should remove my wedding ring to show that I was available. They found themselves the recipients of what my children call ‘the look’. Haven’t seen it myself (don’t practise in the mirror) but it does seem to have a shrivelling effect. The ring stayed on because I like it (it’s medium width beaten gold) and because it made life easier for my children (still at school) to have a mother who conformed to the standards of the day. Men don’t think of these things.
Tomorrow would be my parents’ 80th wedding anniversary, but sadly, they are both long gone. My father would have turned 112 last week.
But life does indeed go on. A week ago, by eldest granddaughter turned 13. OMG for two reasons: first that she is 13, and secondly, that she is only 13. She is, of course, very beautiful and very intelligent (got 20/20 for her last creative writing exercise) and seems much older than that. While I am in Sydney, I’m going to teach her to write limericks.
And yes, I am in Sydney, which is where the precipice comes in. I’m perched on the edge of it as my sister undergoes a major operation today. That’s what makes it a good day to put life in a wider context. She will be fine (I insist). It will be good to have that confirmed.