It’s the 12th again, and it’s amazing how one day out of the month can completely turn everything upside down. It’s like Topsy Turvy in the 2nd Mary Poppins only I’m not finding the fun in it.

This weekend, one of my greatest friends came into town to celebrate a certain age birthday that I’m not going to mention. Her husband rented us an ocean front house south from home and it was just perfect. We had a wonderful weekend of drinks, food (mainly chips), conversations, some suspect 80s music and plenty of laughter. It was perfect. But then I woke up today, the sun wasn’t shining, the wind was blowing and the rain was coming down. And I remembered what day it was.

Today is January 12, 2020. It is 10 years from Jack’s due date (random fact that doesn’t matter at all) and it is also 2 months since the death of my person. And it has been the longest 2 months of my life. Sure, some days, it feels like only yesterday he was here, on the couch, snuggled up with his damn puppy, falling asleep to the umpteenth hour of SportsCenter. But mostly, the days drag on, the nights even longer.

I came home immediately upon waking this morning (well, after packing up my stuff, washing some dishes and taking down the birthday decorations we had put up.) I put on sad country music (because that’s always wise) and I took the beach road (the slow road) the whole way home while the tears streamed silently down my cheeks. I got home to lackluster excitement from my boys and jubilant tail wagging from my dogs. I had cleaned up my act, so to speak, from my ride home but as soon as I saw my mom, the tears came again. We’ve, again, done so many things since the last time the 12th came.

We’ve celebrated birthdays – Uncle G, Jack, Jesus.

We’ve visited with more family.

Christmas didn’t kill us.

My boys destroyed me in laser tag.

We went to Busch Gardens. For Christmastown. After Christmas. Why?

We had a family sleepover with some dear friends.

I nearly didn’t survive New Year’s Day because it was just too damn hard to think about a brand new year without Ash by my side.

Both Jack and Colt have broken down countless times, just missing their dad. Funny (funny probably isn’t the right word) how month 2 seems so much more difficult than month 1 was. I guess the longer time goes on, the more real it all is. And the more they just miss him.

Basketball games started. Colt is a star galloper, also quite good at Star Wars battles on the court. Jack keeps breaking his own personal best records each game.

We have nearly finished reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire together. It’s taken an embarrassingly long time, I’m not all that ashamed to admit. Still have a few pages to go. We can do it!! Tonight’s goal!

I’ve continued exercising even more.

We’ve planned a night at a local resort next weekend with friends so we can swim and play and distract ourselves further.

I’ve lost another 4 pounds. (I know, still a lot to go!)

We fulfilled one of Ash’s wishes by scattering some of his ashes in the Atlantic Ocean. It was just the 3 of us and it felt good to do. It also felt like every other day because “Colt’s hogging the jar” and “Jack dumped more than me” and “I’m cold” and all those fun things that come with 2 growing adolescent boys!

I’ve found all 3 tape measures (just so darn excited about that it’s worth mentioning every time I write apparently)

We’ve laughed and cried and yelled and stayed up too late. We’ve fought, we’ve made up and we’ve fought again.

We’ve watched countless episodes of Chasing Monsters and How to Train Your Dragon Race to the Edge.

I’ve watched too much Netflix, mainly You. Oh Joe!

We just keeping doing it. Every day. Living.

They (who ever the fuck they are, I have no idea) say it gets easier. So far it hasn’t. In fact, this last month was more difficult than the one before. Maybe because of all the holidays and New Year and just more time to adjust to the new normal. And I’m not trying to be this sad, weak, complaining mess of a woman that I’m coming across as. I just don’t know how else to get it out, where to let it go. Because while some days I may not feel like putting one foot in front of the other, that’s just not an option. So the pain has to go somewhere. And this is where for me.

I know it’s just a date on a calendar. I know that everybody suffers from loss and grief and all the bull shit life can throw at you. But I’d like to propose we just remove the 12th from every month from now until forever. Except, that’s not true either. Because while it’s difficult, remembering Ash, really taking the time to think about him and remember him, doing so brings me so much more joy than pain. So keep on coming the 12th of the month. I see your sadness and raise you a heaping dose of joy.