Let's face it. Bad things seem to happen on the 11th. November 11th we commemorate war. September 11th.
And August 11.
Every month, as this date rolls around again, I pause. Count. And remember. Its not something I want to do. Force myself to do. It just happens... And every 11th the number of months between he and I increases. The rawness fades. But the longing remains.
This morning, for the first time in thirty-one months, however, I did not wake up with the calendar heavy on my mind. I made it until almost noon before the date hit home.
"Holy shit. It's the 11th. And I didn't even know..."
The reality of that is both depressing and liberating at the same time. Like so many things, its both good and bad. I know the fact that it wasn't the first thing I thought of means that I may be moving forward. That perhaps the date I have come to hate is losing some of its grip on me. That every 11th needs not be an anniversary I mark.
But deep within my mind, that's bad too. Because it means I am moving away from him. Drifting away from the day that, really, has defined me probably more than any other. In some strange way, I'm afraid that forgetting the significance of the date will diminish the significance of the day. And him.
I'm happy it took me nearly 12 hours to remember. And guilty about the same.
I don't know whether the date passed me by for as long as it did because I really am moving forward, or because I am just so damn depressed at the moment that I really don't care what date it is. Even the 11th doesn't matter.
Either way, part of me feels I owe Kurt an apology. An explanation at last. Because I promised him I would never forget. Because moving forward does not mean moving beyond. I don't think I'll ever do that.
And I still hate the 11th. And can't wait until midnight so its all over....
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