There are days on the calendar that call to mind a pain I fail to dismiss. March 25, April 24, May 24, July 22, October 20; Then of course, we add the holidays with rotating days, like Mother’s day.
I used to get close to those days, counting down, full of melancholy. Then, as life pushed me forward, the days blurred together. I no longer felt the need to bring my world down, hiding from everyone, secluding myself in my bed.
Still, I find myself unable to forget them completely. Last year, some of those dates, a would have been due date and a miscarriage anniversary, went by unannounced. I didn’t think of the experience that day, I didn’t wake up the night before, remembering all the pain they brought. The grief was finally subsiding, letting me live the life that comes after loss.
I should not have been so naive.
Unexpectedly, days later, out of the blue, I’d hit a wall. I was driving down the highway, choking on the sobs, wiping away the tears until it became too much, and I needed to pull over.
The other time, I was in the grocery store. With a cart full of groceries, and my hand on a carton of cream, I panicked. The air began to thin, the sounds in the store were overwhelming. I just wanted to get out. If I could make it out of the store before the tears ran down my face, before I made an audible cry.
I left the cart and hit the car, grateful for the privacy of my own vehicle, however thin that veil might be. Knowing it was a short ride home, I blasted the air on my face, willing myself to focus on the road.
I feel it now. As we reach Spring, and some of those dates, I feel the tightening on my lungs, I feel the hesitation in my heart. I feel the things I can’t forget.