I don't want to turn the light off and sleep. I don't want it to be tomorrow. I don't want to feel the grief of the death day.
I turn the light off anyway.
Dec 18, 5:08 am
Suddenly awake, still dark, too early. I don't want to be in this day. Not yet. I turn on meditation music and close my eyes.
6:29 am
I get a message from my friend. She is eating cake today. She never forgets. She is with me in spirit.
6:30 am
The best cat in the world stretches out on my chest and begins to purr. I am not alone.
7:03 am
A warm body crawls into my bed and snuggles with me. Comfort, not tears. I've never started death day like this before.
7:42 am
I see a Facebook post from my friend. Her baby turns one today. A year ago I resented her for having such joy on the death day, for holding her boy when I will never hold mine ago. Today I wonder if I can hold both, my sorrow and her joy. Possibly.
8:17 am
I get in the shower and sob. Hot water washes away my tears while happy music plays.
9:02 am
I am sitting cross legged in my bed, sharing cake for breakfast. I ask him why did he offer to eat cake with me and he replies "You shouldn't have to do this alone." I cry and eat cake. With company.
9:19 am
A message from a friend. Her son died too. I know she grieves, with me and for me. I hate that she is in this with me. But her message makes me feel seen, not alone in my grief.
10:00 am
I am wrapped up in a hug. The same person, every year on death day. This is my ritual, to spend the morning with her. I feel her love.
3:13 pm
Walking with my feet in the water, icy cold toes, sea glass and pretty rocks. Zac is here, in the Atlantic Ocean, with me.
3:25 pm
Wrapped in a blanket, starting to warm up, the sun hits my face through the windshield. I close my eyes and take a breath. It feels peaceful.
4:30
Eating pizza, I am exhausted. I don't have anything left. I want to go home and curl up and cry. No more adventures today.
6:59 pm
I watch the time ticking closer to the moment, seven years ago, when life ended. I feel like I should be crying, wailing, ripping my hair out. I hold myself so tightly and I am held. Not alone.
7:15 pm
Two big boys home with me. Make pizza. Turn on a movie to watch the fighting, shooting and saving the world. Noise, talking, laughter.
10:46 pm
Still not alone, tucked into bed with dogs and cats on and around me. Comfort comes in doggy snores and kitty purrs.
11:01 pm
Turn the light off. Close my eyes. Death day comes to an end. Today there were pockets of grief and pockets of peace. Today there were tears and there was laughter. Today there was comfort. Today I was hugged and held. Today I was not alone.
There has never been a death day like this before.
