When Ten Years Feels Like a Minute in Time

On this Saturday, March 12th, in anticipation of the 10th anniversary of Mike’s death, I kept reminding myself that it wouldn’t be as painful as the day he died. Nothing would ever match the heartache and shock when I heard that he was dead. And it worked for the day as I took photos of Valley Youth Theater’s Dear 2020 production and stopped at my favorite bakery, Onyx Sweet Shoppe. I got to see people at both places that I like and are genuinely kind people.

March 13th dawned early. The sorrow greeted me as I woke up. It was hard to believe that ten years had gone by since I last saw Mike. On the other hand, it felt like it had been a minute ago. We had our ups and downs because that’s life. The hardest part about death is that hope also dies, with wounds left unhealed. This year’s anniversary is compounded by the raw grief of my mother’s death, who only died seven weeks ago. It intensified the grief that I felt for Mike.

I’m blessed with friends and family who took the time to reach out to me by text to let me know they were thinking of me. My friend Jacki went with me to Desert Botanical Garden and out to lunch so that I would not be alone. She’s always good company, and it was nice to get out in the fresh air. I’ve learned that I can feel overwhelmed emotionally and still go out and find beauty.

I wish Mike could have recovered from his addiction and enjoyed life. That we could have been able to do the things we imagined once the kids were grown. Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want. I’m such a different person than I was ten years ago. My mom would always tell me how proud she was of how I reinvented myself. In reading Megan Devine’s book It’s Okay That You’re Not Okay, she talks about how it’s not an exchange of our loved one’s life so that we can grow. Reading that was validating. I grew because of my choices to continue to live with the pain, not because of it.