Milestones and making beds

August is a difficult month. One the one hand I try to be happy thinking about the joy I experienced on the 17th in 2008, but of course my memories of that day are marred by the events three months later. So it isn't surprising that, as the days tick by leading up to what would have been our two year anniversary, a sense of disquiet has come over me as I anticipate crossing yet another milestone.

Two years. Has it really been only two years since Karen and I stood under the chuppah? It seems at once like yesterday and a lifetime ago. That day was magical from the setting, to the weather - how the warm August day gave way to a seasonably cool evening with a surreal blue dusk sky, but mainly because of the woman standing with me saying "I do."

I think of that day often and try to use the memories of it to push from my mind the images of her death and the painful days (weeks, months, years...) that have followed and are inevitably to come. I recall the excitement I felt; how the world and future seemed spread out before us both. The anniversaries I looked forward to celebrating. The gifts we'd exchange. The memories we'd forge together.

Traditionally, the gift for a second anniversary is something made from, or having to do with, cotton. Of course there isn't a corresponding gift list for presents relating to anniversaries that are not achieved. Instead, the date becomes a milestone. Another turn of the calendar and mark of what should have been. Naturally, such as milestones are, these are significant dates. The sort of thing that one anticipates and girds themselves to face. But often the mundane, routine moments throughout the calendar that impact on me equally, if not more.

A few days ago I was changing the sheets on my bed. A banal event to be sure. As I did, I recalled how, even before Karen and I were engaged, she had accompanied me to Macy's to pick out the mattress (a funny story that still brings a smile to my face when I think about it) as well as weighed in on the choice of bed frame and headboard. It was clear, even in those early days of our being together, that I wasn't merely buying my bed, but rather was buying ours. For me, that represents the strength of our relationship and our future; together only a few months and already intuitively making a life together.

I stood, fitted sheet in place and top sheet in my hands, for several moments. Looking from the foot of the bed toward the head, staring at the Budduh she brought from her apartment and insisted we put above the headboard to look over us, it struck me like the proverbial ton of bricks: our bed was now just mine. Despite the wonderful memories of laying together, no more would be made. The morning after my 37th birthday will forever be the last we spend.

Perhaps it is fitting that such thoughts came to me on that day, just shy of what would have been our Cotton Anniversary, as I handled the cotton sheets. After all, I can assure you that I have changed the sheets on the bed many, many times. I certainly don't have the list of traditional wedding anniversary gifts committed to memory, but something innately stuck a chord with me.

The milestones are there. I'm expecting them and "preparing" as best someone can, I hope. But those moments making the bed, or cooking something, or hearing a certain song, or..., will forever I think be the one that spark the most intense feelings. Partly because they're unexpected and partly because there is a rawness to what is evoked.