Happy Anniversary, Party of One

Dear Tim,

Another anniversary is here. May 22 marks what would’ve been our 30th anniversary. You know how I’ve always hated the would’ves, could’ves, and should’ves because I equate them to regret. To me, regret is the most useless emotion. Why? Because it means we had an opportunity to make something happen but we chose not to and now we are sorry we didn’t. I have to take exception with this one time. We would’ve been celebrating our milestone anniversary in a big way but I regret that we aren’t.

Like in the past eight years, there will be no special candle-lit dinners, no flowers, no gifts, no trip to some exotic and romantic destination, and no Happy Anniversary loving, because you’re not here. We were never given the chance nor the time to make our long-range plans happen.  In a blink of an eye, your time was up and then you were gone. Life did bless us with 21 happy anniversaries together, more than what others could even hope for, and I am truly grateful and will cherish them forever.

In the early days when you left, I dreaded holidays and anniversaries because they were too painful to bear.  A boulder-in-the-throat and a squeeze-to-the-heart kind of painful. But ready or not, they would come year in and year out barreling at me like a train with blaring horns and bright neon lights.  There was no escaping them. I often wished them away and wanted to forget they even existed. But then I DID want to remember. Is that even possible? That’s how crazy grief makes you. Nothing is black or white, yes or no, up or down, either-or anymore. Everything is a gray area where anything goes and you are alone to sort out the duality of things. This year is different. I was aware this anniversary was coming but it is more like a gentle tap on the shoulder. Maybe I’m starting to mellow out with age. Maybe I have just given up on fighting with grief and loss – it’s just too exhausting. It drains your life force.  Or maybe I have gotten used to you not being around anymore. But, I lie. I miss you so much more with every passing year. I miss being able to share with you everything both special and mundane in my life like I used to. What I would give to see you, hold you, and talk to you for one more day. Somehow, that hole you left is so deep, I don’t think anything or anyone would ever be able to fill it. So how does a “party of one” celebrate a milestone that never was? This year, I want to remember everything about where we began when sadness and grief were strangers to us and all we knew was a life filled with hope and promise of a happily ever after.

I remember... meeting you was a classic case of serendipity. I didn’t look or even wish for you. You came through the door of my office in Manila. It was Christmas Eve 1986. You didn’t say much. Perhaps coming back after 25 years left you speechless (for once) as if you were in shock – knowing the place where you were born and raised yet not recognizing it. I was still smarting from the break-up of my 3-year relationship a few months earlier so I was not interested in meeting anyone. I gave you the once over and thought to myself, “He’s cute but I don’t like the hair.”  Curly on a guy was not something that was attractive to me. I never knew I could be so shallow to let something as a hairstyle have the potential of being a deal breaker. Back then, I was young, naïve, and didn’t know much about what was important in life.

I remember... when you came back that summer, a different person walked through the same door. This time, you were sporting the “spiky” look, not quite a mullet, but the hairstyle that rock stars of the 80s wore, and those reflective sunglasses that are now back in fashion. This time I thought you were hot. I was thrilled when we got the chance to talk and get to know each other more and you finally asked me out on a date.

I remember... our first date. You followed the traditional Filipino way and picked me up and met my parents. Sometimes, I wish that for our daughter but times have drastically changed. You wouldn’t like the dating landscape now. We had dinner at a nice restaurant – Pakistani cuisine – what was I thinking? Maybe I was trying to impress you with how worldly my palate was. Thankfully, it was good. Then we went dancing at the swanky disco at the Philippine Plaza. You danced like a “white boy” but you didn’t care so I didn’t care. All we cared about was having fun. Then we slow-danced to Lady in Red by Chris DeBurgh. It sounds cheesy but I still love it. I don’t know how that became our song when I was not even wearing red. It wasn’t until 20 years later when we would dance to the same song, this time I was wearing red and it was perfect. On the way home while waiting for the light to change, you turned to me and asked in Tagalog that you obviously rehearsed, if you could kiss me. Except that you butchered the sentence and made me laugh out loud. I gave you an A for effort and let you have the kiss because you were so darn irresistible.

I remember... your last day in Manila. We had lunch at Esperanza’s then you drove me home in the pouring rain. The mood was a bit somber. We sat in the car and just talked. I was sad because you were leaving and I was not sure if we would see each other again. So I told myself to go big or go home and asked you if you wanted me to wait. I remember that smile that lit up your face and the kiss that was answer enough. You said you felt honored and happy that I asked.

I remember... the frustrating months apart and the endless letters we sent to each other that took two weeks to arrive. I wish they had invented FaceTime, or instant messaging back then. I still have your letters and mine. One of these days I would like to read them all again.

I remember... when your Dad (who was my boss) took pity on us and brought me to the States with him to visit the head office in St. Louis for a few days and the rest to spend with you in Phoenix. We had so much fun getting reacquainted. I loved your spontaneity where it was so easy for you to decide to do something on a moment’s notice. I always planned things to death so this was something new and liberating for me. Some were fun like impromptu midnight breakfasts and picnics at the lake. Some, not so fun like that time you stopped on a desert road to show me the infamous cholla cactus or jumping cactus. You told me not to touch it because it was the sharpest thing in nature yet proceeded to gingerly pick one up. Somehow you got stuck and the only way to get rid of it was fling it across. I never expected it to jump, land on my face and stick me on my temple, barely missing my eye. We did laugh about it later but I didn’t think it was funny at that moment. Or that day you decided to take me skiing in Flagstaff without checking the weather forecast. We got stuck on the slopes with a blizzard coming and when we finally got down, our car was hydroplaning next to an oil tanker on Munds Park before choosing to conk out in the middle of nowhere. A cell phone and Triple-A would have easily solved our problem but this was way before we got both. I was not surprised to find out you had no tools in the trunk but one precious flare. We somehow made it home in one piece that night only by the grace of God and me praying to all that was holy.  I knew then that we complemented each other. Throughout our married life, you taught me to live a little, to let go and take chances once in a while to enjoy life, and I taught you that a little planning or preparation never hurt and to take some things in life a little more seriously.

I remember... January 18, a few days before I had to go back home, we decided to get married. We thought of going to the courthouse but all the government offices were closed for the MLK, Jr. holiday. (It was so like you to be spontaneous and not check.) We ended up that night at Holy Cross Lutheran Church in Scottsdale. It was a very beautiful and intimate handfasting ceremony with only your sister, your Mom and step-Dad present. There was no big white dress, no rings (we had to borrow them), no huge and expensive reception, just a champagne toast. We didn’t even have a photo of the actual ceremony - just imprinted forever in our memory. This is when I made my first vow to you. Come to think of it, this was the biggest spontaneous thing I had ever done in my life. I came to the States to visit you and went home a married woman!  You taught me well.

I remember... May 22, finally the big day arrived after being apart again for four months. It was a beautiful fairytale wedding every girl could dream about. I remember every detail like it was just yesterday –San Agustin Church, a magnificent  Baroque church built in the 1500s; walking down the aisle to the strains of Bach’s Air on a G String and Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring; the age-old Spanish traditions of the coins, candle, cord, and veil to unite us; being surrounded by friends and loved ones. I could even feel the sweltering humidity of that night. But nothing could take away from our special day. I watched the royal wedding today and I could not help but reminisce our own wedding day and how my breath had caught at the same nerve wracking anticipation, and overflowing love and joy at marrying my beloved.

Thirty years ago, I never promised you til death do us part. I vowed to love and honor you all the days of my life. And I will do exactly that until I breathe my last.

Happy Anniversary, My Love.

Love is an unconditional commitment to an imperfect person. To love somebody isn't just a strong feeling. It is a decision, a judgment and a promise.