I never finished writing this journal entry, but it was interesting coming across it several months after Rick died. I didn’t have much time to write, but I’m glad I had this one short entry because it reminds me of how early on the reality of his impending death really started to sink in.
January 1, 2017
It’s hitting me today. Rick is sleeping again, and I’m going through old pictures of our trip to England. Suddenly, I just started sobbing. I don’t know exactly why, but I don’t want this to end. I want to take more trips with him. He really isn’t going to be here to retire together and have adventures, is he?
I looked at all these scenes where he drove me everywhere to look at cemeteries and towns and old inns. He listened to me tell him all this history and genealogy that doesn’t interest him very much at all, but he took me anyway. He’s taken me to Maine and Indiana and all the other places my ancestors are buried just because he loves me. I don’t take any of that for granted….
