Dates are significant...especially to someone with a memory like mine. I'm like an elephant...I never forget...anything. So whenever something significant happens, whether good or bad, happy or sad, that date becomes embedded in my mind.
I met Mike on August 13, 1987. I can remember counting the months we were dating based on that date, and now I count the years we've been together from it. It's always been a happy date for me. We've been a couple for over 30 years...over half my life!
So here I am on March 13, 2018. This date did not sneak up on me. I've known it was coming. The 13th of every month has taken on a new significance since losing our precious Kristine on September 13, 2017. Why? It should be no worse than any other day without her...but still, it is. I guess it's the counting of time...she's been gone one month, then two months, three months, four months, five months...and now six months.
It's not getting easier...in fact, I think it's gotten harder in many ways. Time is not healing this wound.
The worst feeling is that one right after I wake up and remember she's really gone. Or when I get in the car after work and I don't have the busyness of the day to distract me. Or when I'm lying in bed praying for sleep to overtake me. It's a very real physical pain...yet no physical pain can honestly compare to it. It's a crushing feeling...this pain of grief...a heaviness on my chest that has made me wonder if I'm having a heart attack. I have actually thought to myself that a heart attack might actually bring relief from this pain. But it's no heart attack...it's a truly broken heart.
This morning I woke up and acknowledged to myself the significance of this date. And then another date jumped into my mind...tomorrow...March 14, 2018. Tomorrow morning, seventeen families will be waking up to the realization that it's been one month since their sons, daughters, and husbands were violently taken from them. My heart breaks for those families.
I know what they're feeling, yet I don't.
My daughter did not die from a violent crime, just a violent disease.
I can empathize with their loss, but I can't help them.
No one can alter or shorten this journey.
It is lonely...even when you're on it with people you love.
