This week I had a couple of disappointing "widow moments." I had two times when I hoped for things to turn out one way, and instead they went the other.
On Saturday night, we had our first ever Wine Club in San Antonio. Friends and readers from long ago might remember that Brian and I started such a club in Des Moines years ago. I brought it to Austin, along with members Erin & Chad. Only now has it come into my San Antonio home. For the first time in this home and this city, with a new group of people, I chose "favorite wine" as the theme. I had set aside a special bottle to share with the group -- a bottle of merlot from 2002 that was the last of a case Brian and I had bought together. We had fallen in love with this wine, which stopped being produced, and had tracked down the last of the supply to a restaurant in southeast Iowa. We made a point to eat dinner there so we could purchase a case. Unfortunately, we were kicking off a weeklong road trip at the end of May. The case of wine did not fare so well in the car (wine is not supposed to be exposed to prolonged periods of extreme heat), and about half the bottles were ruined, spoiled by the sun. Every time we would open a bottle, we had the anticipation of finding out whether it would be one of the best bottles of wine we'd ever had, or whether it would be utterly undrinkable. Sadly, the last bottle -- one I had been saving for a special occasion, to drink with the right people -- was the latter.
Then, there was some film I developed today. Yes, film. I had one disposable camera, and a mostly-taken roll of film in my old 35 mm camera. I had no idea what was on either roll, but I hoped desperately there would be a picture or two of Brian. I wanted some memory to be recalled that was in danger of slipping away, or one more look at his big smile and beautiful green eyes. I wondered if there would be a photo from a great trip, or maybe just a random snapshot taken at home for no reason. Again, I was disappointed. Not a single picture of Brian on either roll.
I want more memories of him. I don't have enough. I want something new, something I've forgotten about or misplaced, to pop up. Even tasting a good bottle of that wine would have taken me back to that wonderful vacation together, to evenings spent conversing and laughing around our dining room table with friends. I wanted desperately for something to take me back to those happy times this week, and I just didn't get it.
But, I also know I'll be okay. I was fine without the non-existent photos, and I was fine every day that I didn't pop open that bottle of wine. I don't need more photos or a certain merlot to make me okay. That doesn't change the fact that I wanted those things though, and I'm sad that neither one came through. I still miss him. And I hate feeling like the reminders -- and especially the chances of finding some new piece of him -- are slipping away.
On Saturday night, we had our first ever Wine Club in San Antonio. Friends and readers from long ago might remember that Brian and I started such a club in Des Moines years ago. I brought it to Austin, along with members Erin & Chad. Only now has it come into my San Antonio home. For the first time in this home and this city, with a new group of people, I chose "favorite wine" as the theme. I had set aside a special bottle to share with the group -- a bottle of merlot from 2002 that was the last of a case Brian and I had bought together. We had fallen in love with this wine, which stopped being produced, and had tracked down the last of the supply to a restaurant in southeast Iowa. We made a point to eat dinner there so we could purchase a case. Unfortunately, we were kicking off a weeklong road trip at the end of May. The case of wine did not fare so well in the car (wine is not supposed to be exposed to prolonged periods of extreme heat), and about half the bottles were ruined, spoiled by the sun. Every time we would open a bottle, we had the anticipation of finding out whether it would be one of the best bottles of wine we'd ever had, or whether it would be utterly undrinkable. Sadly, the last bottle -- one I had been saving for a special occasion, to drink with the right people -- was the latter.
Then, there was some film I developed today. Yes, film. I had one disposable camera, and a mostly-taken roll of film in my old 35 mm camera. I had no idea what was on either roll, but I hoped desperately there would be a picture or two of Brian. I wanted some memory to be recalled that was in danger of slipping away, or one more look at his big smile and beautiful green eyes. I wondered if there would be a photo from a great trip, or maybe just a random snapshot taken at home for no reason. Again, I was disappointed. Not a single picture of Brian on either roll.
I want more memories of him. I don't have enough. I want something new, something I've forgotten about or misplaced, to pop up. Even tasting a good bottle of that wine would have taken me back to that wonderful vacation together, to evenings spent conversing and laughing around our dining room table with friends. I wanted desperately for something to take me back to those happy times this week, and I just didn't get it.
But, I also know I'll be okay. I was fine without the non-existent photos, and I was fine every day that I didn't pop open that bottle of wine. I don't need more photos or a certain merlot to make me okay. That doesn't change the fact that I wanted those things though, and I'm sad that neither one came through. I still miss him. And I hate feeling like the reminders -- and especially the chances of finding some new piece of him -- are slipping away.
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