I prepped and cooked dinner for the first time since I lost Chris.  That was 5 months ago, and this is the first time since that I’ve actually made my own dinner.  And I realized there were things about Chris I was forgetting.

I really should have planned it better.  It’s really my fault that it happened.  For someone who is a meticulous planner, you would think I’d do a better job of planning my first home-cooked meal.  But trips to the grocery store these days are hap-hazard at best.  I just walk in, without even a list.  And try to avoid seeing anyone who might make things awkward and ask how I am.  Seriously, I’m trying to get in and out.  Wave.  Say, “You look great!”  And just text me later.  But back to the dinner.

I made sauteed peppers and chicken.  Which is a lot like fajitas.  Which was our favorite meal to cook together.  When we used to cook it together, I prepped the vegetables and meat, put it all in the pan, fixed the rice and tortillas, and he was responsible for seasoning and sauteing the meat and vegetables.  I should have known I was about to hit a wall.  I should have been prepared.

So I prepped the chicken and vegetables.  I heated my pans, tossed the peppers in one pan and chicken in the other.  And then it was time to season.

I opened the cabinet to pull out the right spices.  And it happened.  I realized I couldn’t remember what he used.  I couldn’t remember the spices he pulled out to season our favorite meal together.  The meal we fixed almost weekly.  And I couldn’t remember which spices he used.

I broke.  I stared at that cabinet for what felt like hours.  I couldn’t move.  The peppers were starting to burn, but I could do nothing but stare at the cabinet.  Stare at the rows of spices.  And break down.

And that was the moment that broke me.  I hadn’t cried in months.  But that moment brought an onslaught of emotion I wasn’t prepared for.  Because I wasn’t prepared for that dreaded moment…when I realized I didn’t remember every detail.

I know it will continue to happen.  I know it will continue  to happen at the most unexpected times.  The grief will come in waves – the realization that I’ve lost my best friend and better half will sneak up on me at times when I’m not ready.  The fact that I cannot remember every imperfect moment of our time together will haunt me, and sting me, and make me want to crawl in bed and never get up.

But I guess that’s why they say, “Better to have loved and lost…”.  So that we can understand the depth and breadth of what we had.  And appreciate our love that much more.  And appreciate our lives that much more.  And appreciate the moments we still have with those we cherish so much.  So that when we do break down, and can’t hold it together anymore, we know we broke because we loved and lived that hard.

Do I regret not writing down more of our memories?  Do I regret not paying more attention to the seemingly insignificant moments?  Do I regret taking for granted his seasoning recipe because, “I’ll remember it next time he does it…”?  No.  Regret is an emotion I have no interest in.  Regret is an emotion that haunts.  And I am not interested in being someone haunted by regret.  What good does it do?  I cannot undo it.  I can’t go back in time and pay more attention to each moment, mentally jotting it all down in a memory rolodex.  Regret is not for me.  Because I can only change what I do now.

And now I will pay attention to the time I have with loved ones.  Enjoy the laughter.  Relish in the imperfect moments.  Make a better attempt at memorizing the recipes I adore.  Ask the questions that I may not be able to ask later.

I don’t regret that I forgot the recipe for fajitas.  I don’t regret that I didn’t pay attention in every moment that I should have.  I just miss the man behind the recipe.  I just miss his face, and his smile, and his laughter, and his silly kitchen dancing.  And I will continue to break in the moments when I realize I’m forgetting…so that I can remember.