The end of the shampoo and the death of orchids

I've woken twice in the middle of the night this last week or two, and found that I was crying.  No memory of a dream, just sadness and longing.  We're coming to the end of the year, the animal of my body remembers this quality of light or phase of the moon; a year ago he was alive and we were on the slippery slope.

This is not a pain I'm seeking to end, it doesn't have fear and despair to make it unbearable.  It fels a little like labor pains, surprisingly intense sometimes, but with a sense of health and rightness about it.  I am giving birth to myself and Gil's death is guiding me.               

I revisit details of this moment, that decision and though through hind sight I understand this or wish that, I don't regret with clenched teeth "oh, if only we'd....".  We did what we did, it's not about perfection.  I realize now that perhaps we hung on longer, tried more chemos at the end because we were part of a team with Dr Callander and she wasn't ready to give up.  She said we could always stop but she still had hope of "knocking it out of the ball park"  and so we kept playing.    Perhaps a useful insight for someone else but not a source of angst.  Gil's death was what it was and we had far more than our share of miracles and joy in that last month or so.  Who's to say we "should of" anything, but breathe as long as we could.

I just used the last bottle of shampoo that Gil bought.   He loved to be well supplied.  So when he'd get down say 3/4 of the bottle, he'd get another (often a large Costco one) but then would forget and at 4/5 mark,  buy another.  He once bought 3 replacement bottles before the original was used up.  He did this with toothpaste, and paper products too.  It drove me nuts! as things spilled out of storage!

I have used the last drop of the last bottle he bought.  Now I can decide what kind of shampoo I want.

Our 25th anniversary is at the end of this month.  We used to get orchids (often cheap Home Depot ones) but I often got them to rebloom for several years.  The last of our orchids has died.  I'm going to buy a beautiful one to mark this year and get some expert advise on helping it flourish.

We're entering the sweet spot time of a year ago when we got him his billiard table and other joys.   I miss him intensely at times and there are events or new skills (mine) that I know he would delight in and it hurts that he's not here to appreciate them.  

But  I  am;   I'm here in a way that I've never been before, surrounded by loving friends and family, but free of responsibility for anyone else's well being besides my own.