Loving Anne

When you lose someone you love, the year ahead becomes a series of firsts without them — first holidays, first birthdays, and so on. I’ve already gone through many of these without Anne, but today brings another one. And it’s a big one. Today would have been our 21st wedding anniversary.

Last year on June 25th, Anne and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary in Bologna, Italy. It was the second stop on our 17‑day family vacation through Italy, Switzerland, and The Netherlands. We had arrived in Bologna the day before, and within an hour of dropping our bags, we went out in search of tagliatelle al ragù for lunch. (What we Americans might call “Bolognese”). Later that evening, we watched Terry Gilliam present a new cut of Brazil at Il Cinema Ritrovato, the free outdoor film festival happening in the main piazza next to our hotel.

On the day of our 20th anniversary — our only full day in Bologna — we set off for nearby Modena and then took a shuttle to Maranello to visit the Ferrari Museum. Kate had lobbied for this particular stop, being a devoted F1 fan, and it turned out to be a lot of fun. The Ferrari museum was delightful, filled with gorgeous cars from every era, including several Formula 1 cars.

Back in Bologna that afternoon, we asked our hotel to recommend a good spot for our anniversary dinner. They suggested Franco Rossi, an upscale restaurant not too far away. We arrived unfashionably early at 7 PM and were the only ones seated, though we could hear a lively party downstairs in the private dining room.

Kate was with us, of course, and it was a lovely place to celebrate 20 wonderful years of marriage. I remember ordering a hazelnut encrusted fish, while Kate and Anne both ordered pasta. Kate snapped a picture of us to commemorate the day. By the time we finished dessert and paid the check, the restaurant was full and buzzing. It was a fun day to celebrate two decades together.

Most years though, our wedding anniversary happened a lot closer to home. We often celebrated at El Gaucho, a wonderful steakhouse in Seattle’s Belltown neighborhood. I can easily find photos of four recent anniversaries we spent there (see slideshow). Those nights were even better when our favorite waiter, Mok, was working.

More than once in my anniversary card to Anne, I would write that marrying her was the best decision I ever made. Anne was truly a wonderful partner and my best friend. We dated for 2 years before I asked her to marry me. You can view a few more wedding photos, read about how we met, how I proposed, and watch me read Anne’s Favorite Day, the little proposal book I made.

There are a couple more firsts still ahead for me. Anne’s birthday is on July 8, and then in August, the anniversary of her passing. I’ll have a little more to say then. With all that said, Kate and I are doing okay. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re finding joy where we can. 

I find getting out of the house for a long daily walk is really good for me. Anne and I had a five‑mile round‑trip walk we loved to do from our place. I still walk it often, but instead of chatting with Anne, I’m usually listening to an audiobook now, often a music biography or a classic novel. Right now, it’s George Orwell’s “1984”. I’ve come to really enjoy walking and listening.

I try to think about the future as an unwritten adventure. I’m not sure how it will unfold, but I’m optimistic that fun and interesting times are still ahead. Kate has one more year of high school before heading off to college and beyond. There’s a lot of change on the horizon, and I’m learning to embrace it.

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A couple of months after Anne died, my co‑worker Scott shared a book passage with me. It’s from Of Time and Lamentation: Reflections on Transience by Raymond Tallis, who is a physician, poet, and philosopher. Scott’s dad had been reading this heady book before he died and had underlined this passage:

It has often been said that philosophy should teach one how to die. As a doctor, I have seen enough of dying to be aware of the distance of most philosophical thought from the final phase of our return to the earth which has supported our singular existence. Nevertheless, I do believe we should use the idea of death to enhance our sense of life and its mystery. Life at its most abundant is life lived in full consciousness of its finitude, in luminous awareness that our hands will grasp and our eyes will see and our hearts will beat for only a while. The art of living is also the art of outliving: to get over those who have “gone before” without becoming shallow. A meditation on time – on the mystery of the past we shared with them, the passage of time that took us past them, the future that seems to lie like a buffer between this moment and death – is an appropriate kind of memento mori, a way of getting closer to the unthinkable.

So what do I think of this passage? It’s dense and poetic and it gives me comfort. Maybe it’s helping me accept loss and find a way to live with it while still moving forward. At its core, it’s simply saying, “Make the best of whatever time you have.” Whether someone has lost a close loved one or not, that’s sound advice.

Kate and I have started planning a return to Europe for the summer after she graduates. Like Anne, Kate has developed a real fondness for Italy, so we’ll probably spend most of our time there — but who knows? It’s still early yet. We’ll see how things unfold.

Love to all of you. I have another post planned for Anne’s birthday on July 8 – Anneisms!

Brent and Kate