This day has been hard for me since I was 17. It was the day I first permanently lost something I thought I’d have forever and experienced the accompanying long heartbreak with that kinda thing.
But I knew I’d be okay because what I’d had, for the time I had it, was 100% different and special from anything else on the planet. I lost my best friend, but knew that in the time I’d had with him, we’d made it the best it could have ever been. I knew I’d find the same kind of knock-you-off-your-feet love again, and I’m so lucky to say I have.
Then this day got harder when, four years ago, my cuddly bear of an uncle passed away. This day – the 20th – the day of his birth, became a hard reminder that he wasn’t ticking off another year on the calendar like the rest of us.
But I knew I’d be okay. I knew the whole family would be okay because we had each other, we had our humor, and we had dimes of hope sent to us every time we needed one. We’d always have the gash, but it would sting less and less over time as we held each other together, even if only with Scotch tape.
Oh, but this day wasn’t done with me. I thought the double-whammy would be enough, but the 20th said, “Hey, let’s have another go, shall we!?” So as I was on my way up north this morning to see my ailing Pop-Pop, my grandma called to say he was already gone. My sweet, hilarious Pop-Pop, who was always there to tell me how gorgeous he thought I was when I was feeling down and how much he loved me, no matter how I was feeling.
I guess this is where I should write “But I know I’ll be okay, and I know my family will be okay…” but I’m not at the place right now. I’m not sure how I feel about the triple threat of grief this day brings. I am sure even while having this great support group of folks I do, April 20th will always be marred with a gray blob on my calendar. Most of all, I am sure that I will always miss three of the most important men in my life.