Cemetary Visit

My husband passed away almost 4 years ago and I have never, ever received any comfort from visiting his gravesite. This is the reason I seldom go there and it's a source of guilt for me that I don't.

Every time, without fail, that I've gone to the cemetary I am filled with a deep rooted anger for the injustice he suffered, first with his terrible illness and then with his death. I know that younger people suffer and die every day and that isn't fair, either, but that doesn't alleviate my conviction that my husband never deserved his fate.

Yesterday would have been Dennis' 72nd birthday and he probably would have spent it puttering around in his workroom because it was too rainy and cold for him to go sailing. He would have moaned about that all day. His daughters would have called to wish him a happy birthday and he would have rushed them off the phone like he always did...but he would have been very pleased they called. He would have had a cheese and onion sandwich for lunch, maybe an hour's nap in the afternoon, and then a full course meal for his supper (sometimes a family barbecue). He never gained an ounce but then he wasn't a big eater. He would have watched a little T.V. and then gone to bed before 10 P.M.

Some people don't ask for much out of life, just a few pleasures and some peace of mind. There was much more to Dennis than that, though. He was extremely intelligent, a voracious reader, and a man who loved to take things apart to see how they worked. He loved to teach his children and then his grandchildren about the ways of life and of the world. He was a runner and in great shape for a man of his age. He should have lived forever...but he didn't.

I went with our 2 daughters and our oldest granddaughter to visit his gravesite today and I felt the anger again. I wonder if I always will.