Conversation with my dad today, in the car on the way to pick up the twins*:
Father: I've been thinking about you a lot this week, wondering how you're feeling about tomorrow.
Me: Um . . . tomorrow?
Father: Since it's a significant date and all.
Me: Um . . . [Throw me a bone!] . . . [But John died on the 11th; two days ago was a significant date!] . . . Well, I've been really busy.
Father: I know you planned the memorial for right around your anniversary for a number of reasons, and I just wanted to know how you were feeling about all that.
Me: [Shit! I forgot my anniversary!] I wanted to have the memorial around my anniversary so that I'd be with friends during a rough time. Thing is, I've been so busy that I forgot it was our anniversary!
I cried the whole way home after that. I'm so preoccupied lately that the four-month anniversary of John's death went by in a blur of BBQs and barfy babies and exhaustion. Now I forgot our third anniversary. To be fair, we weren't real anniversary celebrators; a nice meal together was the most we did. But still.
I miss John all the time. But at the same time, I don't have much time to think about missing John. It's a paradox, but true. I have so much on my mind dealing with the day to day that the big picture passes me by sometimes. I feel guilty, like I don't do enough to honor John's memory by remembering the dates. I mean, his ashes are still in the world's ugliest brown plastic box on our bookshelves even though it's my intention to find something more meaningful and, well, honorable. I have heard myself call our bedroom my bedroom, my room, which technically it is, but when did I start thinking of it that way? How?
We went on our first date on April 5, 2003. John died on April 11, 2007. Four years. We got four years. Tomorrow, three years of marriage. It may be my bedroom now, but I certainly still think of myself as married. That thinking is not going to change for a long, long time.
*Twins were back to their crabby ways tonight. They ate much better, which was great, but then cried and cried until bedtime. Then Riley sobbed after I put him to bed. He hasn't done that in MONTHS. He calmed right down when I went back in and resettled him, but I felt so bad for them. Poor tired babies.