Calma

It's been eight years without you.

This month of June has been different. The class I've been taking has sucked up not only my brain but also my soul and I haven't had the usual horrible thoughts about the hospital--a blessing!

I talked to Nen on the anniversary of your checking in at the hospital (four weeks ago), then last week I emailed "the girls" (widows) letting them know my saddiversary was approaching (they were very supportive), and... in no time at all, we've reached the black date.

The saddest of all differences is that nobody--nobody--sent me a note or gave me a call today to let me know that they remembered. Not even one person. Not one of those I know loved you or me. I'll always hold the dubious honor of being the one for whom your loss was the worst, the one for whom June 17 will never be a normal date.

That is probably why I also don't feel like sharing about it with anybody. Only one person came to mind--Adele. I asked her to spend some time with me tonight. She would understand. Like me, she has known the darkest side of grief and has come out of it. She has a newborn and I thought I could celebrate you by sharing with her some of the stories you wrote in Nen's diary when he was a baby. She too was glad to be able to share with somebody who understood.

Despite the stand I seem to have taken against pain and grief, dates still matter.