Four years ago (today), was my husband’s 63rd birthday. I remember that day all too well. Wayne had always been “eccentric” and he had plenty of odd and unusual behaviors, but I assumed that this was part and parcel of his brilliant mind. He had an IQ well north of 180. With few exceptions, true geniuses are truly odd. I accepted his eccentricities as part of the package deal.
But that day he was more foul-tempered than usual, and he said very ugly things about the expensive birthday present I’d given him, and then he lobbed a few vicious words at a neighbor. Ten days later, he would be dead – by his own hand.
My friends who are also “suicide widows” understand about “anniversaries” all too well, but many others don’t: Wayne’s birth day and death day are both hard days, and I look forward to the time when I don’t feel sad on those two days.
So for now, I ask for your prayers and your love and your support.
In the meantime, here are some pretty pictures from my travels in early March.