Blessed days.

It's gonna be five years since Jeanne died. After a 13-year siege with Alzheimer's. And after 38 years as my dear, sweet wife. Didn't think I wanted to live any more. On that day, Jan. 18, 2007. But live I did. And I'm sure that's what Jeanne wanted me to do. To live life to the fullest. For as long as it lasts. To savor every single day. I'm even savoring the past. Every blessed day I ever had with Jeanne. Maybe at the time, I didn't think every day was blessed. But now I know better. Even when Jeanne was dying, she was teaching me. To love life. The last 38 months were spent in a nursing home. But I was there every day. And hardly ever missed a day of taking Jeanne outdoors. In her custom-made low-slung wheelchair. Wrapped in a thermal sleeping bag in the middle of Minnesota winters. Jeanne revered the outdoors. The sunsets. The wildlife. The trees. The snow. The rain. The cold. The warmth. The lakeshore. Upon reflection now, it seems like every day with Jeanne was a good day. That's the way I remember it. Time does that. I don't recall a bad time any more. Strange and wonderful, isn't it? They all have become blessed days. In my memory. --Jim Broede