At 62…Happy Anniversary

One year ago today, Michael Powell and I stood up in front of a minister at the Pope County Courthouse and exchanged the vows that we had already said to each other years before. Mike called me “Mrs. Powell” with that slow grin that I loved so much, we went by the pharmacy to pick up his prescription, and headed home to our recliners. We laughed and said we certainly knew how to throw a party!

One of Mike’s friends told me a story last summer that I’d never known. I was coming to Coffman Cove for the very first time. Our relationship was in its infancy. We’d never even been alone in the same room with each other. He said, “You know, I’ve never even kissed her. But I’m going to marry that woman!” And so, he did.

And that’s as much of our story as I can share today. I’ve tried for two weeks to write this post, but the words I thought I would write just won’t come. It’s not grief, it’s not depression, it’s not even anger – it’s none of those.

I think it’s just – privacy. So many people knew both of us. And many of those people looked at the us they knew and just couldn’t figure out how we worked so well. But Mike and I were different around each other when we were alone. Mike became more like me and I became more like him. We stretched each other in ways that we never expected. We were both amused and horrified by it. Like any good couple, Mike and I pulled a ring around ourselves that no one else could enter. We talked about that so much – how was it possible to be this close to another person so instantly? Mike said it best when he said we had simply been together forever. Forever across time.

I can’t look at the widow memes on Facebook. I can’t look at the ones that say how sad I am and how much I miss him. I don’t like the sadness associated with the word “widow”. The only saying that I can identify with is this – “I’m not a widow. I’m a wife to a husband with wings.”

I know that Mike is at peace. I know he is blessedly free from pain. He is sometimes cheering me on, sometimes frustrated with days I still spend in grief, and every now and then he just nudges me to pick up the danged vacuum and give it a whirl!

He’s here with me daily. Do I wish he was here in person? Yes, I do. God, yes, I do. Mike always said everything happens for a reason. I will never understand this one. I am, however, closer to working on acceptance.

One year later, I am still inordinately proud to say that I am Mrs. Michael Farrell Powell. Jane Carrie Patrick-Powell.

Happy Anniversary, baby. I will love you forever…at 62 – and beyond.