Special Sundays will be the worst.
BackstorySundays were "our" day. In healthier times, we would go for a long bike ride and stop at the bicycler's coffee shop where we would run into somebody we knew (our form of Cheers). As James got sicker, we would do easy projects around the house. Towards the end, he would sleep most of the day and prop himself up to have dinner with me and watch some short comedy show. Even with him asleep, I could always get in bed, wrap my arms around his rib cage and hold him. I never felt lonely, even if we weren't actually doing something. Sunday, our day is now so very painful.
photo-sailing the Caribbean in the 90's, therefore the haircut.