It's October. Remember how we loved the fall? Sweater weather, hot coffee drinks, walks in the crisp night air? October hurts now. Like, I feel it in a physical way. It takes my breath from my lungs and replaces it with acid. Sharp and cruel.
It rained today, mom. The sky got dark and grey and it came down - slowly, methodically. I looked at my phone for a moment, expecting your text.
"Ang, RAIN! It's raining here! Is it there??"
You would have said. We would fight over who got rain first.
But only I felt the rain on my face. I have no idea if it rained over in Concord, because no one was there to tell me...
I don't want October to be so hard. I've been busy, really busy. I don't know if that was intentional or not. But even in my craziness I feel your absence. It weighs on me.
I look at the calendar and remember. I know just what was happening on this day last year - it's possible I could concentrate hard enough to share your blood pressure readings, or what your CARE board said. I can remember our conversations, or lack their of. I remember every word I swallowed. I remember every word I wish I'd said to you.
I was afraid.
If only I knew, how little time we had... if only.
Will there come a time I can think of the happy memories as quickly as the bad? Will a day come that I won't remember "this time last year"?
Will there be an October where I can enjoy the crunch and color of leaves without you? Breathe in the air on a dark fall night and smile without tears?
In a week it will be a year. One. Entire. Year. of missing you. Of aching for you. Of anger and sadness and shattered hearts.
So much good has happened this year mom. So much. It's not all weeping, but when it is, it hurts.
We miss happy Octobers. We miss you.