My internal calender has been counting down. Down. Down.
Down to today.
And it feels personal because it is personal. And I curse this day. Every year. For the last eight years.
I suppose we all have our own personal September 11th's or December 7th's. I suppose we all have a day reserved on our internal calenders stained with someone's memory. I suppose I am not alone in this.
It feels personal because it is personal.
It doesn't feel right to laugh today. Or make jokes.
It doesn't feel right to rely on my old reliable defense mechanisms today.
I don't want to play with my children. If I had children.
I don't want to kiss my wife. If I had a wife.
I don't want to answer my phone.
I don't want to say I love you nor do I want to be angry.
Not today.
I just want silence. Because it feels right. It feels like the reverent thing to do.
Lord Almighty knows. He knows.
But that's not enough for me. Not today.
This feels personal because it is personal.
I'm not alone in this. For some, it's the day they lost a parent. Or a spouse. Or a sibling. For others, their day is stained in failure. Like a divorce. Or an ending to what seemed to be a match made in heaven.
And then that word "heaven" pops into my mind. And it doesn't bring comfort. Not today. My own personal anniversary.
I will skip the after work beer today. Out of respect.
I should avoid watching the game. Because he can't.
Silence feels appropriate.
This feels personal because it is personal.
I choose to remember the good times. Because they outweigh those incredibly miserable ones.
I choose to remember how we swam in calm waters. Because the drowning came far and in between.
I choose to recall how swiftly you ran. Because the stumbling and the falling and the slurring came later.
I'm not alone in this.
We all have these types of anniversaries.
It feels personal because it is personal.
For each of us.
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