Just another day

To most people, yesterday was just another day. It came, it went, things happened, but it wasn’t memorable. It wasn’t the happiest day of their life, it wasn’t the saddest and by the end of the weekend they will struggle to remember what they ate for lunch or dinner.

I’m not most people.

Yesterday was one of the dates on the calendar that will always mean something to me and will never get easier. I wake up in the morning and the tears start to well. Throughout the day I try and stay occupied, but it is hard because I think about the What Ifs. By the end of the day I’m exhausted and I just can’t fight the tears anymore. And I can’t even blame the hormones.

My Dad should have turned 63 yesterday. He should have been sitting in St.Kitts saying how much he wished we could all celebrate together, but maybe next year. Though it wouldn’t really matter because he’d just be happy that his fourth grandchild in a year and a half was due to arrive at any moment.

And I know I shouldn’t think about how things would be or how I think they SHOULD be, but I cannot help it. I miss him. I miss him every single day of my life and cannot believe that so much time has passed and so many things have happened in all of our lives and he hasn’t been here to be a part of it with us. Each of us, his children, has had our life change in ways that he would be so proud of and ways he wanted so badly for us and for him .. and he doesn’t get to share any of it.

Sure, a lot of you would say that “he knows”, he’s always there, he’s better off … and a whole bunch of other thing that are meant to make me feel better, but don’t. I don’t need words, I don’t need hugs, I don’t need looks of “poor girl, you’ll be okay” and time will not heal no matter how many people say it.

Each year on the 22nd of May my heart shatters into a million pieces of sadness that cannot be helped no matter what. Sure, yesterday was better than the others that have passed as we were plenty occupied with two toddlers running around and falling over and into each other, but that just allows the pieces to shatter a little more slowly.

But this morning at 5.25am I was awaken with the pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter of two not so tiny toddler feet running across the creaky wood floors from his room to my bedside with arms out stretched wanting to join us in bed and it helped start to put the pieces back in place. And although I know my heart will never fully heal, moments like that help get it back to as whole as it can.

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