Her Birth Date

This morning I went to wish my Pammy a happy 67th birthday, fully aware that her ashes wouldn't hear me, but it did me a lot of good regardless.

We have had pretty bad weather here in Mildura in the last day or two and I was pleased to see that all of Pammy's grave decorations were still in place - and looking even cleaner as well.

A lot of good folk on Facebook wished Pammy a happy birthday too - and one lovely lady on there even commented as to Pam's and my mutual love. 

It's hard to accept that Pammy would have been 67 today.  I was 66 when she died and she was still 65.  It may change (and I hope it never does), but I reckon my love for her is as strong as ever - but here I am back at home saying I love her, but I'm really only loving her memory, I suppose.

This is a 'selfie' of me with Pammy's grave to my right...

 

...and this how her grave decorations survived the wind and the rain...

 

 

I'll love her for as long as I live.

 

Everything Failed Her - Even Pain

It doesn't take much to happen in my current life before I think of 'What would have Pammy done?'  A couple of weeks ago, my back started to play up and it soon turned into serious pain.  Pain is fortunately one experience that my lovely Pammy didn't have to suffer - the total loss of physical ability, bowel and bladder control, loss of her taste senses through non-use, nevertheless left Pammy fully cognoscente and able to still be (very) happy and comfortable.

I am glad that what happened to me happened when it did - so Pam didn't have to witness my bad behaviour.  My L3 Lumbar vertebrae had decided to self-destruct and caused what a short Google search will describe as 'intense pain'.  Well, reading the words is significantly different to actually experiencing the condition.  At night, if I'm asleep and I inadvertently move my leg without firstly preparing for it (which I can't do because I'm asleep), causes the localised ache to uncontrollably and rapidly feedback on itself into a full body-length Hell!  This wakes me up yelling in pain and no-doubt amusing the neighbours with the foul language that accompanies it.  I can't help thinking that if this horror had actually happened to Pam, she might say "Oooh!" and keep smiling regardless - which she would do because she felt so loved, and indeed was.

Another detail worthy of mentioning, is that I no longer feel the need to visit her grave quite as often as I did - once or thrice a week seems now to work well for me.

I thought I'd put this picture in because it reminds me of a time when my back didn't hurt...