Musing

Today, I was thinking, with a bit of regret, that over the years I had not told Burt that he was handsome.

This twinge was triggered by a poem in which I called him “my handsome man.” Isn’t it too late to let him know now?

My regret is only half serious. Burt knew how much I loved him. I told him I loved him. Often. At least once a day.

Burt appreciated my love for him. I appreciated his love for me. As the song says, we had a “mutual admiration society.”

He readily accepted gestures as proof of love. Treats I brought home for him; the birthday books I made listing 80+ things I loved about him for several years running.

In truth, I have no regrets. I was demonstrative; I was attentive.

It’s all right to worry that I had not done enough. Self-doubt is a natural extension of loss.

I think all this soul-wrenching is part of the grieving process.