Today is Wednesday, January 11. A seemingly innocuous day on the calendar. Hump day for most people, and little else. But not for me. Kurt died on the 11th. Wednesday, the 11th.
Early on, Wednesdays jumped out on the calendar, marking the weeks in a silent progression as I moved farther and farther away from him. I hated Wednesdays. I could tell you exactly how many weeks. Days too, for the longest time. But somewhere, around day 100 - week 14 or so - Wednesdays slowly drifted back into the calendar. Days became just that - days. Weeks became simply weeks. I was here. He wasn't. We were apart. It didn't matter how long it had been. Not weekly anyway. I dreaded that day just a little less...
People told me that was healing. I believe I just got tired of counting. Watching the numbers increase hurt a little too much. It took too much energy to count everything all the time.
But every so often, the calendar aligns and Wednesday rears its ugly head. Suddenly, for 24 hours, that day again has meaning. Everything seems so much closer. Fresher. Raw. I relive those early morning moments over and over in my mind. Him and us, and a typical Wednesday morning. It was this Wednesday. Exactly 17 months ago. 74 weeks. 518 days. It seems like forever. It seems like yesterday. Like he was just here. Like he never was....
Wednesday will never be just another day. It will always be the day of the week Kurt died. I just don't think of it that way as often anymore. And the good thing is tomorrow will be Thursday. When the day of the week will again not matter, and the months will again be all I count. Until April, anyhow, when this blast from the past, this shot of reality happens all over again.
Maybe someday the months will matter less too... Or maybe I'll just lose count....
No comments:
Post a Comment