19 years of 19 days

19 days.

In real-time, there was one year and 19 days between the dates.

March 13, 2003

April 2, 2004

But now? Now, it's just 19 days.

19 days between the dates that shifted the axis of my world, dates that my body sometimes remembers better than my own mind.

They are dates that others have likely forgotten.

That is not to say they've forgotten my mom or dad, just the dates.

But for me, they are dates etched into my soul.

They are phone calls of, "Come now."

"He has a 70% chance of not living through the night."

"You need to be here with your mom."

Ironically enough, the call to be with my mom came the day we lost my dad. One year apart then... but now, remembered on the same day.

They bring memories of hours spent watching oxygen monitors and counting down the minutes until the next dose of medicine could be given. The moment I walked into the room as they called out my mom's time of death.

Dates that when my mind forgets, my body is sure to remember. A sick feeling in my stomach for the days or weeks leading to it. Headaches, tense shoulders. Reminders of confusion, anger, pain, and grief of years past. A curiosity as to why I am feeling so "off" until my mind catches up with a renewed sadness that, yes, another year without them has come and gone.

Dates are important. We plan our lives by them: birthdates, anniversaries, appointments, and entire schedules.

I would guess that my calendar is marked with many of the same as most of you. My family's birthdates. Our anniversaries. The date we bought our home. Family and friends' birthdays, anniversaries. Our pets' birthdays even!

It is also marked with my parents' birthdays.

January 22. December 24.

28 days between those.

And their death dates.

19 days between those.

And for good measure, since we're being honest here:

My grandfather, who was my father figure in many ways.

January 1. The first baby born that year.

May 3. The day I was supposed to get my driver's license after we made a pitstop to check on grandpa... but he had already left us.

Some years I do well; I get through the days with minimal tears and happy remembrances. In other years... my body reminds me first, my emotions are shakey, and I cry my way through the day more focused on what if's and why not's than should be allowed.

Today, we got up and went to church. I checked e-mails, already marking my schedule with to-do's for next week, dealing with personal and business demands.

A reminder that even though they are gone, the world has continued to move on. Life has continued... without them. Even on a day like today, some things need tending to.

But every year, every single year, is filled with dates marked by sadness and loss.

This year I am tired of the grief. I am tired of sadness. I feel guilt that these days sometimes feel like a burden, an interruption to my efforts to heal and move on. I am tired of carrying these losses with me, but unaware of how to let them go without losing them.

If you've been here awhile, you are accustomed to these posts; these annual memorials that grace my Facebook and Instagram pages (and blog).

I am sure more than a couple of you have thought once or twice, "She should move on. She should not still be posting these."

And that's fine. I get it. I do. No harm, no foul.

But there are others who do get it. Others who need to see it. Others who also carry their own dates with them, loss a part of their story, where dates are all they have to hold onto since their loved ones have gone.

I post for myself. I post for my loved ones. And I post for each and every one of you who also needs this. This reminder that healing is not linear. Grief may not go away, but it wanes. Time does not heal, but we can and will heal. And just because we've healed does not mean we have to forget.