Sitting on the beach last night and wondering when it’s not going to hurt so much on the first of every month. Add in that the first this time fell on a Wednesday, just how it was the day that Willie died, and it’s a double hit.
There are some first days of the months lately that I go along and am aware but not acutely so…but then there are days like yesterday. Days that, no matter how busy I am, the time is with me all day. This was what time he got up that day, this is when he did this, or that, this was when he was found… this was what time it was when I crested the hill coming home and my heart stopped when I saw the police cruiser in my driveway… this was when I was driving to tell my other boys that their brother was dead… this was when I was on the phone with the coroner, asking repeated and stupid questions as my mind tried to grasp what I was being told… this is when..
It went on all day. I found myself sitting on the beach last night ripped apart with remembering. Not because I was bringing them up or wallowing as I have been accused of doing… they come, they just don’t stop, can’t be stopped, sometimes. I relive that day every moment and feel it again, just as painful as that day it seems some times.
Then I wake up on the second and the same feeling that I had on that other second of the month hits me… that it wasn’t a nightmare… that it’s real and nothing can change it.