Time

Time is a weird thing. I often find myself wishing that I’d taken more time to record every little detail, every minute of every day that we had together, that the kids and I spend together now. It’d be so much easier to remember if I had reams and reams of papers and stacks of disks and pictures and videos that remembered it all…

…but instead, there are glimpses here and there, and even then I’m not quite sure when/if I remember it right. It creates a sense of loss that is a dull ache somewhere under my ribs, as if there’s a pocket there filled with regret.

April 10th would have been our 16 year anniversary. March 14th would have been his 37th birthday. These dates were at the forefront of my memory right up until the day in question – then I completely forgot. Then I remembered and felt bad. Then I got angry, because no one else remembered either, though mostly I was angry at myself – because who forgets that? How is it I could stare at the date and wonder why it was important to me? Then kick myself because it IS important, but for some reason I was hiding it from myself, just as I had been hiding from everyone else.

You can’t see me if I cover my eyes, after all.

The simple fact is – I miss him, and it hurts. I “forget” because it’s easier than remembering that I’m alone, raising his kids, his AMAZING kids, who he’d be so proud of. It’s easier than remembering how long it’s been, and how much I’m still hiding from the rest of the world.

I “forget” the little things, because remembering hurts too damn bad.

Happy Anniversary, Kevin.
I haven’t forgotten… anything.