i understand that death & loss are all a part of life. but i don’t understand why it always falls in the same period of time for us. always in november. next year, i’m skipping the entire month. all of it.
nothing in this life is permanent. no emotion is constant. no matter how strong we are, we’re all fragile at times.
brand new tonight. the cure tomorrow. letting music be my escape, as always.
Every year it’s the same thing - November marks my least favorite time of the year. The month that fills me with enough anxiety over one day, that in return I hate the entire 30 day period.
Really, by now I should be able to see it as just another day. But today represents too much. It represents an end of over four years of watching him suffer and taking care of him; it represents the end of my childhood naivety of thinking one day things would all turn around; it represents the worst kind of goodbye.
Every year I spend the first days of the month filled with so much anxiety over the date that I live in fear of facing it. I’m left repeating memories in my head of that period of time in the hospital with him while we sat waiting. Waiting for the inevitable. I replay all the memories of that last night sitting in the basement with him, before I woke up to my mom saying the ambulance was coming. I replay all the memories of that morning. Of that week. Of that day coming home without him.
And then the day comes, and I expect something to be different. Something to feel different. Something to look different. I still haven’t figure out what I expect, but I always expect it. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this feeling.
But then it’s over. And you know what, I don’t even feel a sense of relief when it is.