Anniversary dates. When you are grieving for someone you miss beyond comprehension, they hit you hard, especially that first year. However, you never know when the tears will come from loss. It could be one year, five years, or twenty. I’ve been here before, in the position of saying, “This time last year…” Well, I sat this weekend and said, “This time last year, we were having my mom’s celebration of life.” It was a living celebration, something she wanted. It was something we talked about for a while because we always thought that it was interesting that people have celebrations after the person is already gone. “Do it while they are here,” we both said several times. Let them be surrounded by love. That is, if you have the choice as my mom did. See, in many ways we were fortunate we had a timeline. We knew what was coming. It wasn’t a car accident, a drowning, someone falling off a cliff. It wasn’t a bear attack or a snake bite. A gunshot wound. It was cancer, and cancer fucking sucks, but at least we knew that at this time last year. We knew we had around five weeks left or so, according to the ortho. This time last year my chest was becoming heavier by the day.
For those of you that are grieving, and I know there are many, you know those anniversary dates far too well. It’s like there’s an anticipation of the calendar turning, of time toying with you, slapping you in the face and saying, “This time last year…” Sometimes it’s the big dates, the important ones like Christmas and birthdays. Other times, it’s remembering a conversation. For me, those times, the ones that no one else knows about are the most special. Now, I sit on my patio, in my mother’s chair, at her table, under the umbrella, remembering the things she told me as she was preparing to cross over. It was the advice and wishes of a dying woman, telling me to make sure that I keep sharing my writing and my spoken words because they connect with people and help them. To follow my passion. I often changed the subject when she was talking about me and my life because it did not matter at the time. For those of you that have held the person you love as they start to fade, you understand putting your life on hold. You are on pause and so is every interest, thought, and it takes a lot of energy just to show up at what is needed. To show up for love, relationships, friendships, and jobs. This time last year, I was exhausted.
This time last year my mother’s family gathered around her, for her, and we did celebrate. We celebrated her life. Her legacy was there in all of her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. It was there in her daughter-in-laws, and friends. We laughed, cried, told stories, and danced. We ate soul food, and one of us, I will let you guess which one, stood in the thundering, pouring rain, and screamed at the heavens. My mother’s “wild boy” as she liked to say. She always smiled when she said that to me, and she would only say it to me. I think she appreciated my sense of adventure, the sometimes fearlessness of facing life head on, and screaming at the storms. The literal storms above and the ones in my head.
This time last year, I sat in tears daily, tension in my shoulders, neck, jaw, legs, and hips. This time last year, I walked around in pain, often limping for the first fifty steps until things loosened up. This time last year I was urgently writing my mother letters, wanting her to understand how I felt about her. I wanted her to read how I felt about her life and her death, and my time on this earth with her. This time last year, I was preparing myself to lose the woman who brought me into this world, gave me life, and molded me into the man I would become. This time last year, I was telling myself foolish lies that I was prepared for her death.
This time last year, my dog Maddie was still here to greet me, hounding as she lay her head into my chest. This time last year, I had more love in my life and was not as lonely. This time last year, I told myself that I needed to continue to grow and create the life I set out to. This time last year, I told my mom I would continue to try and make her proud. This time last year, I looked into my wife’s blue eyes and realized that I had the love I needed in front of me.
This time last year, I was breaking slowly into a hundred thousand pieces.
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