|February 8, 2021. On Rosemary's wedding dress |
Today is my Rosemary’s and my wedding anniversary. It was not to be that it would have been the 52nd that we would spend together.
There is one single positive fact about today’s anniversary as it has forced me to face the task of writing this blog after weeks of melancholic doldrums, feeling sorry for myself and for my cats Niño and Niña.
I look at many of my friends, some live alone, some have been divorced more than once and I cannot fathom their situation. It has hit hard for me that I have spent ¾ of my life with Rosemary and this separation and the gloom will not leave me. This is particularly the case as I lie on my bed (formerly our) with my two cats at night and look to the side of the bed that was hers and I try to think of what it means that a presence, a once palpable presence, is gone.
Perhaps the pandemic makes it all worse. I see few people. I am lucky to have two daughters. While one of them, Ale, lives far in Lillooet the other, Hilary, lives in Burnaby so I manage to see her twice a week.
With the weather improving I have been walking Niño around the block. Many of my neighbours ask me about my wife as she was the one who did the Niño walking. Explaining saddens what is almost a pleasant little journey with my Niño. A couple of days ago, Benji (a dog on a leash) approached Niño. Niño stood his ground. Benji licked his face and Niño responded by walking around him and showing his delight at making a new friend.
Is this the solution, to make new friends?
I am not too sure that Niño and Niño miss Rosemary. I believe that they used to share with two humans. The presence of only one makes them compete for atte4ntion so they are like chicle (chewing gum) and they stick to me and follow me everywhere.
Anybody checking the date on our marriage certificate might with some memory figure out that if Ale was born on August 27 of the same year of our marriage that there is something off.
There is an explanation.
It took us a couple of months to get married once we knew that Rosemary was pregnant in 1967. After repeated attempts of being told by judges that they could not marry us without government permission as neither of us were Mexican, I bribed the fourth judge with a good bottle of cognac. By then my mother who was living in Veracruz was not present at the ceremony. Of the ceremony I can state here that we were married in the then and now fashionable (and historic) Coyoacán neighbourhood. I can also pretty well confirm that in one of the trips that Rosemary and I made to Veracruz (nine months before August 27, 1968) I made sure to oil the hinges in our separate room doors. That Ale was conceived in that lovely and warm city of Veracruz, as I write this, a bit of my melancholy of loss dissipates.
Rosemary and I had many adventures. Our life wasn’t always easy but Rosemary’s ability to see ahead made it possible for our daughters and this appreciative widower to not have to worry for what is left of my life. Our daughters will manage.
And I will have to manage without her.