Today is like any other day. I missed her yesterday, last week and 2 months ago. I miss her today and will, most probably, miss her tomorrow and next week and the week after that. Nothing has changed except how much I feel it physically. What was once a sharp stabbing debilitating pain in my chest has been replaced with numbness. I breathe in and out, just like before. I breathe in and out. It is only when I think about it too intensely that the pain of my broken heart resurfaces. It is more like a memory than an actual pain. Maybe I am suffering from phantom heart pain, like those who loose a limb. You still feel it energetically even when it has left you. Maybe that is why anniversaries are worse, because we think the pain back into being. It is our designated day to talk about our losses. We have set this day aside in our calender to feel. We prepare ourselves for the worse, and then everyone feels it with us. We become united in that memory of pain and relive the day, over and over. Nothing has changed, except the scope of our memory. Details emerge, but are they real or created?
We do that with more than grief. We hash and rehash life's minutiae daily. As if looking at it, yet again, will bring us this desired clarity or ending. Reality is that the only thing that keeps it alive is our capacity to regurgitate memory and manipulate it to either make us feel better or worse depending on our point of view at the moment, or the trigger. History is subjective.
48 years and a trillion memories. The choice is mine what I relive. I choose this moment with a heaping helping of fresh out of the oven hot bread, thick butter, smiling hungry faces and laughter. And I continue to breathe, in and out.