A Special Anniversary, but Steve's Still Dead

As April 13 grew near, I sensed relief that Brita and I had made it through this significant first year after the death of my husband Steve Williams - and Brita's father. Since neither of us were wanting to deal with work or school on that day, we planned a truly wonderful day. (Note: we planned the day; we didn't just let it catch us off guard; we thought it through carefully.)

For me, it started with rowing at 5 a.m. The moon in the clear dark sky was a perfect half-circle; not a crescent, but an exact half-circle as though the moon had been bisected along a perfect seam. I'd never seen a moon quite like it.

After I rowed, Brita and I took the ferry to Bainbridge, and stopped for oatmeal and toast at Steve's old haunt, the "career corner" at Bainbridge Bakers. Then, Brita and I traveled north to Port Townsend, another favorite. We wandered through Fort Warden - the site of so many weekend drives.

We took Steve with us, that is, we took his "cremains" in the paper mache box from the funeral home. Brita and I found a beautiful spot on the sunlit beach and scattered a couple handfuls of Steve into the sound. We couldn't part with all of him, but couldn't resist joking about which parts we might have "parted out."

With the bright sun in her face, Brita, sixteen, holds "the box" that's been
kept safe in her room since last April.

Back in Seattle, Brita and I capped off the day with spa massages - a treat that Steve would have surely chosen for "his girls."

So, we made it through the anniversary, awakening only to find that Steve's still dead. Another chapter begins.

Take care,
Linda Gromko, MD