Yesterday was the tenth anniversary of the day when JG and I started dating. There’s a period at the end of that sentence instead of an exclamation point because I really can’t believe it. Specifically, I can’t believe that we are old enough to have been celebrating a decade of anything — high school graduation barely registered for us — plus the realization that, at 19, we were mere infants. The other day, I examined a framed picture of us from the summer after freshman year. We were sitting on the porch swing at the camp where we worked, and we would have started dating a couple of months in the future. Who were those kids? I can barely recognize them now, and I think that’s a good thing.
Last night, JG made chicken with tomatoes and wine sauce for dinner, and we watched How I Met Your Mother after I did the dishes. Party time! I kid, but it’s fine. We wished each other a happy date-iversary, and that was that.
While JG was finishing up dinner and I was getting drinks, I asked him if he would have time to call his mom the next day.
“What do we need to talk to my mom about?” he asked.
Yeah. Today is a dark day.
I remember the date very well because the funeral was the week before my sister’s wedding. Those 2 weeks were tiring in every way. So when JG thanked me for remembering and reminding him, I didn’t see it as a good thing. I just remember all of the hard, bad things, and I hate that a year has already gone by.
In a weird way, I appreciate the proximity to other dates. I don’t know how else I’d remember. It’s kind of like my birthday, which I love to celebrate, except for that tiny pricking mental note that, remember? The anniversary of Kip’s suicide will be in 4 days. If I were a better person, I would not resent that my remembering puts a damper on My Day, My Celebration. But I do, just a little bit.
And then I feel guilty that I don’t remember other people’s dark days. They don’t spring from the calendar like these two for me. Oh, October 2. Oh, March 10. There they are. Even remembering and processing only these is a lot, though. I know that it’s unreasonable, unproductive to get hung up on it. Not every burden is mine, but someone’s carrying it, somewhere. That person could probably use a card.
I don’t know. It’s a sad day, that’s all.
I’m wearing Mimi’s bird medallion necklace today. When the girls in the family went through her costume jewelry, it was one of the pieces I came away with. I showed one of the aunts that I was thinking of taking it, and she said, “Oh, Mimi loved that necklace,” and that sealed the deal. It’s the kind of thing I would have picked out on my own, and knowing that Mimi loved it makes me happier and sadder when I wear it. So, today, I’m wearing Mimi’s necklace and thinking about her.