And so it begins….again. Three years ago today, Mike walked into the
hospital and never walked out. Two days
from now marks what would have been his 43rd birthday. And only 44 days from now will mark the worst
day of my life, and the last day of his.
I think that even if I didn’t have a calendar in front of me, I’d know
what was happening. There is just
something in the air. Despite the cliché
sound of that statement, I actually believe it’s true. The hot summer days are being diluted with
cooler, crisper air (I’ve only felt it for a few days, but it’s there.). The coffee shops are rolling out their
pumpkin spice lattes. Kids are back in school,
or almost there. Baseball season is coming
down the stretch and the opening of football season is less than a week
away. I recognize this time of year just
as everyone else does, but now, all the markings of the end of summer and dawn
of fall are intertwined with a slew of very upsetting memories. They are forever linked and, for me, cannot
be separated.
Recent weeks have left me feeling more down than
usual, sluggish and lacking energy and motivation. I can put my finger on several causes, but I
know it’s all rooted in grief. Lately,
the goings on in each day feel like such a chore, and, as someone in a similar
situation put it, life just feels like one giant to-do list. I have no spark. I wonder if anyone can tell. I wonder if anyone senses what I am feeling. I wonder if the people in my life think I am
back to being myself.
I haven’t been “myself” in almost three years.
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