Anniversary

I got through the day okay. It was better than I expected. Since Lisa and I were on our grand trip to Lancaster, I wasn't anywhere as focused on the date as I would have been if I had been home, where I would have seen the date at every turn: when I went to the refrigerator for orange juice and saw the calendar, when I picked up the church bulletin and saw the date, when I opened the Sunday newspaper, with the date on every page. But we were on vacation, so the date was not constantly on my mind.

I only had one really bad moment. We had gone to the Mall. Lisa was still in Bed, Bath & Beyond; I had finished and was sitting on a bench outside the store waiting for her. I was idly reading my receipt when I noticed the date. And I sat there and cried and sang to myself: "Happy anniversary to us, I miss you so much, happy anniversary to us, I miss you so much,"

You know, I thought each day you got a little better, a little stronger. Grief doesn't work like that. It's more like addiction, constantly right there, right below the surface, waiting to grab ahold of you anytime you let your guard down. In Twelve Step terms, we admit we are powerless over grief, that our tears become unmanageable....