21 DAY REWIND

June 14th, 2020 was a Sunday. I will be stuck in this moment for the rest of my life whether I want to or not. Strange how trauma does that to the mind. As this anniversary is rapidly approaching, so goes my train of thought into a rewind. My brain seems to be repeating roughly the last twenty-one days every year now, as I will explain in greater detail. I started writing about this subject over a week ago. I had this great article ready to go, and then I reread it and realized how sanitized it was. It barely glossed over what I am feeling. Somehow, for some reason, as reality starts to set in more and more, the gut punches are coming more frequently. This. is. reality.

As I said, every year at this time has proven to be a rewind. Ever since the first anniversary in 2021, I have found myself instinctively counting down roughly the last twenty-one days. Week by week, day by day, moment by moment. All are crystal clear. I obsessively look at the calendar, too. I really don’t need to anymore; somehow, I just know, but I still look.

TWENTY-ONE DAYS OF LIFE

The impact of these memories extends beyond my own experience, affecting our daughter, her husband, and our grandsons. They, too, carry the weight of the bittersweet remembrances, feeling the absence of a beloved husband, father, and grandfather. The significance of these twenty-one days ripples through our family, intertwining our lives with a shared sense of joy, love, and loss. Our daughter was married exactly eight days before. Her last memories are of him walking her down to her future husband and all of us at their house celebrating. We drove home on Sunday.

We decided to rip up the carpet in the living room, and finally, after visiting what I think was every home store in the BloNo area, we picked out a hardwood. I was supposed to order it on Monday. Thursday, we did go to the nursery, which had been on the to-do list for a while. He picked out a beautiful fire maple tree for the front yard. It was to replace the existing maple, which was infested with spider mites. He didn’t live to see it planted the following Wednesday morning. These days will hold significance in my heart as they are so vivid, monumental, and emotionally charged. They mark the very last moments, the very last days, and the very last memories I have of my husband on this earth.

THE IMPORTANCE OF THESE DAYS

We were a few months into quarantine. Living in a cul-de-sac, the neighborhood had started meeting up in the street for drinks, music, and social interaction. The importance of the last twenty-one days lies in their inexplicable significance. Things were decisively different then. This was a different time. I remember these days so clearly as they were the last moments spent with my husband. While the reason behind the specific number of days when this rewind starts remains a mystery to me, this time and memories have imprinted themselves on my mind, and the intensity of these memories serves as a reminder of the deep impact they’ve had on not just my life but every life he touched. Those moments will stay with me forever.

So much happened in those last few weeks. Or again, maybe it’s just because I remember them so clearly. Sunsets were his thing. He loved them so much in our new house. He was always home for the good ones. The best, and his last was on the eighth. The bittersweet nature of these memories encapsulates a mix of joy and sorrow, each intertwined with the other.

THE IMPACT OF THESE MEMORIES

I navigate a complex tapestry of emotions as I reflect on these twenty-one days. Cherishing and celebrating the love and memories, while acknowledging the pain of loss, holds a profound importance. As I also navigate the emotions tied to those twenty-one days each year and the years to come, I am reminded of the huge space my husband filled and now the huge hole that is left. It’s a time to honor the love we shared, as well as the lasting imprint my husband left on our hearts. While the weight of loss may linger, I must also find the strength to let it go, and I’m seeing this more clearly now than ever.

While the trauma will always be with me, I’m seeing I have to go on without him. As each year and each milestone keeps passing me by, I keep thinking it will get easier, but it doesn’t. I just learn something new about myself and figure out new ways to cope. But make no mistake, it never gets easier.

I rarely speak for my late husband, although I feel like I know him better than anyone. In these moments, I try to imagine what he would say to me. Above all, he was my cheerleader and always wanted to see me happy, so I let my heart be my guide. Somehow I always know he would approve.

Thanks for reading. I love you all. –xxooC