The Daily Prompt keeps coming up with topics that seem to be aimed directly at me, and here’s another. It might seem at first to be less than joyful, but read on …
My beloved husband, diagnosed with lung cancer in July 2003 (though he’d stopped smoking 18 years before), was absolutely determined not to let it affect our life negatively. I, on the other hand, had no such thought: I was in complete denial. We’d already made plans for another trip to France; and as his medicos were enthusiastic on the topic, off we went.
Whereas we had spent all our previous European forays zipping around various countrysides in whatever vehicle he’d hired, during this trip we were less active and more peaceful; and he even let me do some of the cooking! Don’t allow your jaw to drop in disbelief when I tell you that STILL I didn’t wake up and make any attempt to face the music: whatever it was, I didn’t want to hear it.
So here’s a most unusual photo from our travels: we are in an odd little place called, if I remember correctly, “18th century balconied apartment” (the balcony was the size of its doorway!), in the beautiful town of Brantôme in the Périgord. I am happily getting dinner ready, and Chic has taken this photo of me. It’s not in any way a great photo, or even an interesting one: it’s a photo that tells you my husband loved me greatly, regardless of my lack of stunningness or svelteness … a photo taken in a kind of reverie of what he could never go on to have for the number of years to which he was entitled. He died at 68.
My husband Chic was the most beloved of all times, for me: and this is a photo that confirms he felt the same. How could I not love it (and the holiday from which it sprang) with all my heart, as I did him …?
I forgot to say: that empty wine-bottle next to the bin? – I regret to have to admit that the bin was quite full. Yep, of wine-bottles. [grin]