The days are quickly turning shorter and the nights are getting longer. I don't like the night. It was after sundown last March when I had to call for an ambulance for the last time. Just two days after our 15th wedding anniversary. Everyday when the sun goes down, I think back to that night.

It was the sun that killed her. Melanoma. As much as I hate the night, it's the sun that no longer brightens my day. People tell me things will get better. It must be true. It's been almost 8 months and I only cry seven days/week now.

When she was diagnosed last year, people told us next year things would be better. I wish that were so. She was my best friend.

The Friday before our anniversary, the doctor wanted her to come in for some bloodwork. Afterwards I did not drive the usual way back home. She wanted to know where we were going? I told her she would see.

I took her to a garden nursery. One we had never visited. She was amazing with plants. She had turned our yard into paradise. I knew the nursery visit had to be a short one because she hadn't been out of a wheelchair long. She had broken a leg weak from the cancer last December and her stamina hadn't come back.

She'd been wanting some windchimes so the visit the nursery was so she could pick out just the right ones. After she decided on which ones to get, the nursery worker told me how much they were - almost 100 dollars. My wife said that was too much money to spend on her. Her disease had cost us thousands of dollars because the insurance had run out. I disagreed with her and paid for them.

On our anniversary, I went to her bedside with the chimes, a card, a dozen yellow roses (her favorite, even though like her, they didn't last long enough) and a heart shaped mylar balloon that read 'Love Grows'. She had lost track of the days and thought our annivesary wasn't until the next day.

She'd ordered a cake for us, but was too sick to pick it up, so I offered. She wanted me to bring her purse to her, but I blurted out that I would pay for it. She got this very hurt look on her face. I could kick myself for denying her the pleasure of paying for the cake herself. She was too ill to eat it and after she passed away, so was I.

I didn't hang up the windchimes after I gave them to her because I wanted her to be well enough to come outside when I hung them. That never happened. It took me two months to bring myself to do so. As soon as I did, the flapper started blowing in the breeze causing the chimes to make their music. I'd like to think it was her talking to me. At least that's what I told everyone who came by in the weeks following the funeral.

For the longest time, I had looked forward to helping her celebrate her 50th birthday because she was going to reach it before me. She would've reached that milestone this past August. I couldn't even bring myself to visit the cemetary that day.

I'm creating this blog because I was inspired by another blogger. She's a columnist for a local newspaper. I'm hoping my posts will help me cope. More to come in the weeks ahead. That's the plan, but I now know the frailty of plans all too well.