I forgot my anniversary.
Not my wedding anniversary.
The anniversary of us getting together.
February 1, 1998. We got together for the first time. It was a Saturday.
And I forgot it.
I was having a grief wave the other day. I attributed it to missing his special brand support and encouragement while I’m in school.
A friend asked me if there were any special dates.
Then I remembered. I had forgotten. Our anniversary.
I remember so very clearly when he came out of the coma, when he was awake… he remembered our anniversary in 2012. And I forgot.
My life has been pretty freaking good lately. I love where I’m at, what I’m doing and everything else that is happening in my life. I… am happy. (something changed last night to change part of that, but I’ll work that shit out on my own)
So yeah. Happy.
Not Mark-centered happy. Just happy. Never not missing him. But happy.
And I forgot our anniversary.
And I’m sitting here, trying to figure out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I feel slighly guilty… but he’d be SO happy that I was happy enough in my life that I forgot. So I’m confused about how I feel about that.
I’m still happy.
Another anniversary is coming up next weekend. Valentine’s Day was the first time he ever said he loved me. I have not spent a Valentine’s alone in 17 years.
I think I’m going to be happy anyhow. Because my life is pretty freaking awesome. And I’m happy.