Danniversary: 10 Years Later

Aside from, say, that Surrealist painting with the droopy clock and half-of-a-horse (you know the one), I'd say there's probably nothing more "surreal" than breaking into your deceased husband's blog to write a post by answering his "security question”.

“Lymphoma Update” has remained untouched for over 9 years. I suspect Dali himself would gasp at my internet ninja move.

But wait! Before I continue typing toward the task at hand--honoring this "Danniversary", let me note the shift in tone after these 10 years have passed. Who would 'a thunk it, Dan? Your girl attempting to reference fine art and cracking jokes on what was, just 10 short years ago, a day which seemed unsurvivable. I hope you can appreciate my level of resilience--you know how much attention I require.

**

Dan, I hope you're enjoying it, wherever you are--laughing at us shuffling down here before our own mortal coils uncoil...agonizing over mismatched socks and mortgages and government shutdowns; losing weight and gaining it back based on junk science; making claims and retracting them to save face; laughing with children; feeling sand beneath our toes every chance we get (which is not often enough); looking up at the sky at night and waving to you and the ones we miss; listening to Spotify mixes which tell us what our ears would and should enjoy; wasting time in search of the emoji precise enough to communicate how we feel about someone—instead of simply stating it.

I hope you are amused at the minuscule improvements in iPhone technology--that it exists in the first place. You were a Blackberry user back in 2009. I still have it in my box of treasures, its gummy mint green case a thing you touched.

Do you know how many minutes and hours I have spent in rewind mode? I hope not--because I know you'd wish me to move forward with glances in the rearview mirror only in service of avoiding a crash. Despite advances in technology, I have yet to hack waxing nostalgic with you.

I hope you are proud of the people we've tried to become, mistakes and all; successes be damned. If empathy is a thing where you are, perhaps you can see we’re trying, if never hard enough.

Some people say they wouldn't change anything about their lives and say things like, “The decisions I made are what led me where I am and made me who I am today."

Boy, howdy, do I disagree with that a high percentage of the time! I question my decisions daily, sock choice and all! But the one decision I'd never change was choosing you and allowing you into my heart; into my life. (Besides: socks are temporary; your love is permanent).

To paraphrase the words of Mr. Rodgers ('cause Lord knows I ain't quotin' Bridget Jones), you liked me just as I was/am. Most people can't say this and mean it with every cell of their being, but I can and do and will.

You set a freakin' high bar, DLF, and I'll spend the rest of my days reaching up to meet it.

For anyone reading this on the day or sometime after the 10th anniversary of his earthly departure, know this: I have my own experience with Dan. You may have another. That’s the beauty of any relationship and why we get to keep our portion forever. If, on the other hand, you never met him, well—you’ll just have to trust my musings, inadequate as they are: there was no one like Dan.

He was the Best One.

***

FYI: Dan's famous newsletter, Babble-On, is still up on the interwebs. I'd suggest a look if you'd care for a different trip down memory lane. http://www.babbleonline.com/