We were at our farewell party and I was catching up with friends after the holidays. One of my friends is engaged and as she talked about her wedding I said, "Oh, have you set a date?" and she replied, "Yeah, June 27." I managed not to blurt out, "That's the day my father died." I smiled and nodded and continued our conversation, but it was rattling around in my head.
My husband and I are are talking about his new assignment. He talked to someone in his new office and they were discussing how soon he'd start actual "work" after checking in and what the process entails. My husband asked if February looks like a busy month and he was told no, but that he'd have his first business trip in March. And he tells me, "I'll probably be gone for my birthday. We'll leave on the 17th." I don't think he realizes that the 17th is the day they found Dad's tumor. The day the whole nightmare start for me. I suspect if he stopped to think about it, he'd realize the association since it was locked into the flurry of his deployment departure last year.
I am dreading the period from March 17 to June 27 this year. I also don't delude myself that the whole thing will magically feel better to me after the first anniversary. I feel like that three month time period is looming on my horizon like a nasty storm front. It was waiting for me last year but I didn't see it coming. But forwarned is not necessarily forearmed. I have no idea how to prerpare, what supplies and reserves I will need. Although I'll emerge on the other side, battered but moving forward, I am not looking forward to the journey.