The Sound of 24 Echoes

This was the photo on our wedding invitation sent out in 2002.

The sound of you echoes in my mind. No matter the distractions in between, in the quiet, memories return quickly. Your smile, your glance, our love.
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May 18 is the "would-be" 24th wedding anniversary for Josh and me.

For the past week, especially, so many coincidences, a.k.a. “Josh sightings,” have happened that I can't help but notice the timing.

From reconnecting with a former colleague of Josh, and hearing her talk about him and us, to watching a friend’s son, Sam, share about Josh's legacy of faith (and his dad, Ben) when faced with the ultimate “Even if” related to battling cancer and ultimately death; to this past weekend spending time with Josh's sister and family, camping and canoeing, and celebrating our niece's 4th birthday.

Sitting by the campfire as the rest of the crew settled into their tents at Echo Bluff State Park, echoes of memories fill my mind. It seems, even as I walk in the newness of this life and all that it contains today – including a new state park for Missouri since Josh left the world – I still wish he were here to see it all. While the emotions and tears of my husband's absence have faded somewhat, there remains a deep ache for what was that I can not deny or ignore. Since our first wedding anniversary post-death, I have felt this weight. Anniversaries for surviving spouses are uniquely significant. That first year, I woke up with tears and was quite a mess. I wrote a very emotional, Melancholy Love Song, hiked a trail in Arkansas, and cried a lot.
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Today, six years past that anniversary, I woke restlessly, thinking about all the feelings and reflecting on another, more recent song that has been on my mind this weekend that contains this line.

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“Still 24 years wasn’t long enough, no-o ... to tell you of my love.”​

When I added this line to the revamped version to record, I wanted to add a little more depth by adding a number that reflected our dating and married time together. On this anniversary, I can’t help but feel this number a little different. Especially as I tip toward 7 years without Josh's physical presence – another strange parallel, (7 was our unique celebrating number.) 
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The song “Everyday (It’s Hard to Be Blue) truly does reflect so much, from our story to the many pieces it represents within my grief journey. Yes, it is just one song, but it is also a way to express my feelings rolled into one bunch. It’s like a giant chord of emotions, maybe like one of those extended jazz chords with lots of notes. 

Yeah, that's it, anniversary 24 is like a big fat jazz chord of emotions. It's complicated, and at times, it even sounds a bit bizarre.

As I start this Monday, I am trying to tackle it with intention by taking my nephew and bride-to-be to dinner and talking about Josh and our love story. I'll continue my work at the grief center, post this blog, and most likely play some melancholy/hopeful music at some point.

In this ever-changing space of my widow-life journey, I still acknowledge that there are many complicated parts in between. There is new blending with the old. There is sorrow and hope. There is now and then. There is contrast in all, and at various moments, I still feel the blues deep because Josh is truly gone. Even as I sing about joyful memories, there is a note of sorrow in the bass. This is just part of the song and journey. 💙​

"It's Hard to blue, when I think of you.
You brought a smile to my face every time
You brought laughter to my life
And joy to my soul." 

Find links to listen to the full song here Everyday (It’s Hard to Be Blue)
&  View all the lyrics to the song below

Everyday (It's Hard to Be Blue) Lyrics.pdf
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