Not so much a rollercoaster ride as being tossed by waves, up and down
The better I get, the more I miss him, it seems. Is it a function of time? It’s not a debilitating thing (usually), missing him. But it’s there. I’m not generally morose, but I haven’t felt a lightness of being in so long. It is so subtle, and yet, to me, palpable. No matter what I’m doing, or how I’m feeling otherwise, I miss him. It’s just a matter of degree of pain involved. Sometimes, I think of him and smile. Other times, I break down. Those are fewer now, but my heart must weigh a hundred pounds some days, it is so heavy. Sometimes not crying is worse than crying. It’s like being sick to your stomach, and you know you’d feel better if you threw up, but you can’t, so you just feel awful.
I missed an "anniversary" of sorts last week. The 1-year anniversary of the end-of-July visit that never was came and went without my noticing the date. Last year, my dentist appointment would’ve been the day before I got on the plane to see him. I was so looking forward to that trip, and he needed the break. Apparently, he was in more dire straits than I knew, and I often wonder if he’d had that break, if he’d still be here.
It didn’t occur to me that I’d missed the anniversary until the night before my dentist appointment this Wednesday. It’s a strange thing, to now be a year into it, and find that while for the first year I missed the opportunities we weren’t going to have, this year, I’m mourning the anniversaries of things that DIDN’T happen; anti-firsts. It’s a little convoluted, all that, but there it is.
Anyway, it was that appointment that reminded me, and I have to think it’s a sign of healing that I missed that date, even better because I was having a better week than the ones that preceded it. It means that, for a short time, I wasn’t wary and vigilant of grief stalking me. If it can happen once, I bet it can happen again.