Anniversaries.

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My husband can't remember our wedding, and I don't know how to get through the day. It was such a happy day and I so want to celebrate but there's no point and yet I can't stop memories from making me sad.

4 Comments

I think there is a point in celebrating these milestones. I assume that your husband has dementia? It was a happy day for him too.

I'd get out the pictures and describe the day to him, as if you were telling someone who hadn't been there. Don't say "Do you remember ..." instead "I remember how the flowers smelled. Oh, they were glorious. But the poor little flower girl had an allergy ..."

If he can still go out, then go out! Tell him you are celebrating the very happy day you married him. Or at home set the table fancy and light the candles. Even if he is eating pureed food, it can be a little celebration.

There is plenty of time for sadness (and plenty of cause for it) but on special days take a little time to remember the joy and share your memories with your beloved.
Thank you jeannegibbs. I've decided to go with your advice. We will go to our local for a drink then home for a special meal. Thanks too to all who hugged and messaged. It really helped. Xx
Sorry, Tigger - that has to be tough. But for sure you can celebrate as you are now planning to do. My parents were married 62 years when my dad passed. Dads been gone 3 1/2 years now but when their anniversary date comes around I still wish mom "happy anniversary" - as it's still the anniversary date of their wedding. Mom has taken to spending a lot of time looking at their wedding album in the last two years - so especially on their anniversary we look at it together and mom tells me all the stories - for the 100th time regarding how they met, their courtship and their wedding day.
Just sharing a memory ... I had the entire clan over the Sunday before Thanksgiving (including my husband's first wife). We had a big Italian meal. I was hoping my husband, Coy, could join us for a while but he stayed in bed the whole time. He was aware of all the people and pleased they came to honor him, but was just too exhausted that day.

Hospice offered to deliver a Thanksgiving meal. At first I said no, our family was celebrating early but then I changed my mind. Yes, please, for two.

Thanksgiving day was blustery but not much snow yet so I bundled Coy up and I pushed him for a walk around the neighborhood. When we came in he said he was tired and not hungry and he'd go back to bed. Then he caught sight of the dining table with good china, wine glasses, and a bouquet of flowers and changed his mind. (He was especially thrilled about the wine.) So we sat and had one last holiday meal together. He died before the end of the month.

I smile at that memory now. And I think it was a pleasant experience for him, too.

Sometimes a meal is not much about the food but about the associated memories it invokes and the pleasure of the ambiance and the company and the trouble someone has gone to to make it special.

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