The Widower

A Low-Key Celebration of Cheryl’s Birthday

In many ways, observing what would have been my late wife Cheryl’s 79^th birthday was much like her 78^th.

In other ways, it was different.

On Friday, I drove with our dog, Molly, to Mount Olivet Cemetery on Janesville, Wisconsin’s northwest side, just as I did one year earlier.

Molly got excited as I turned into the cemetery, like she did in 2024. Did she again sense our destination? I had made brief stops at the vet’s for more medicine and at a bike shop, Molly staying in the car for each errand. This time, she seemed to anticipate getting out.

Unlike Oct. 10, 2024, which was a beautiful autumn day, midday Friday was chilly and overcast. As I crested a hill in an older part of the cemetery, I wondered whether the Headless Horseman of Ichabod Crane fame might cross my path amid the day’s gloom.

I had to divert my route because a Viroqua monument lettering van was parked in my path, a worker chiseling new details on an adjacent headstone. Nearby, a cemetery tent covered three chairs positioned for anticipated graveside services, and a maintenance worker spruced up the surroundings.

Speaking of gloom, I had returned Thursday from an annual fishing trip with high school buddies and was nursing a cold. Though a brief early-morning sprinkle did nothing to moisten the parched earth or diminish the drought we’re experiencing, I pulled my seat pad out of my car to sit next to Cheryl’s monument. I said a prayer and snapped photos of Molly before we wandered to a nearby fence line to check whether bluebirds might have raised a brood in a birdhouse this year. The nesting material seemed sparse, so I doubted it.

Our cairn terrier, Molly, sits looking at the gravesite of “Mom.” on Friday.

Circling back to Cheryl’s gravesite, I pulled a spinning sunflower and a small garden flag because Oct. 15 is the deadline for removing decorations. After I placed these in the car, Molly and I headed up another hill to pay respects to Rita Downing, a woman Cheryl befriended during her more than a year in a memory care facility. Rita outlived Cheryl by more than four months.

In doing so, I realized that the graves of two other friends, Mike and Kathleen (Kitty) Hinaus, are mere steps from Cheryl’s. For years, we joined Mike, Kitty, and others from church serving meals during Roosevelt Elementary School’s Breakfast Club.

The rest of the day passed quietly with me reading a book and drafting this piece.

One other thing was unlike Cheryl’s birthday a year earlier. In 2024, several relatives, a friend, and a neighbor texted or called to say they were thinking about Cheryl and me. This year, no one reached out.

I can’t blame them. Heck, in the crush of autumn activities as we rush toward winter, I might have overlooked her birthday myself had it not been for an automatic reminder my cellphone sent me.

In other words, as we approach the two-year mark of Cheryl’s death, people are busy, and life marches on.