One. Two. Two. One. One. Two.

December twenty-first is just another day, after all.  One day like any other since he died.  One more day on the calendar.  Just because it happens to be the one-year anniversary of the day he died doesn’t make it different than any other day.  My friend Angela, who also lost her partner to suicide last year, told me that last weekend while we were Skyping.  My brain, logical brain, knows she’s right.  I grieve every day.  I don’t make grieving reservations, grief comes when it wants to and overstays its welcome and never thinks about what I want. 

Why then, as the days proceed inexorably toward that one day, that one day plus one year, a three now disrupting the line of ones and twos that precede it, does my heart clench in dread?  Why does my stomach knot?  Why does it feel so big, that day that is just a string of numbers, just another day in a long line of them; a line that started before he did and will end after he did?  Why do I not want to get out of bed in the morning?  If it is just a day like any other, why do I want to wipe it from the calendar, crush it out of existence?

When he chose that date, he took the shortest day of the year and made it into the longest day of my life.  He took the three big sevens in our lives – our first date June 7, our first day in San Diego November 7, our wedding anniversary August 7 – added them to make 21 and subtracted himself to make zero.  Every day now is another step I do not want to take, another anniversary of some horror, whether I remember it or not.  Every day of the two weeks before he died was its own kind of nightmare.  He was unraveling and I.  I could not stop it.  I could not stop it.  I did not stop it.  He did.

It is coming.  I hate it already, and I haven’t even met it yet.  I can’t predict what it will be like, but it feels like my enemy, that day.  It is a thief that goes by no name, only numbers.

One. Two. Two. One. One. Three.


7 thoughts on “One. Two. Two. One. One. Two.

  1. Wow….so powerful and painful and yet breathtaking in your ability to share it this way. I have been thinking of you often this month, knowing this was coming and without a clue how to let you know you were in my thoughts. I will be holding you especially carefully in my thoughts and prayers through that series of numbers and the following days.

  2. oh, sweet Jesus, honey. You did not stop it because you COULD NOT STOP IT. He was in that awful, bleak place an he made the decision for both of you. It feels big and overwhelming, because it is. It just IS. You are revisiting the still point. There’s no universe in which that doesn’t crack you wide open at first. And no matter how much it might feel like you are back there- you aren’t. You have done such good work this year. You have shown up every day and done battle. You are a fucking WARRIOR, my beautiful sister. Don’t you ever forget that. You will meet that day on the battlefield- and it will be what it will be- and then it will pass. And you will have survived. I love you, Aimee.

  3. I’m so sorry the anniversary is upon you. I don’t have sympathy that comes with having the same experience, but I have empathy from living with terrible anniversaries. The weeks leading up to them are the worst. Remembering the moments that passed where you wonder if you could have changed the outcome. Agonizing over every conversation that passed, details you missed. And then the date is upon you. And then everything is still. All you can do is ride out the heavy stillness. Sending you peace. I hope it comes.

  4. My husband would sometimes drop into a very dark place and in those times he would sometimes threaten me with suicide or divorce. In the end, he chose the latter. However, for years before I had lived this half life of feeling responsible for his happiness and in fear of feeling responsible for his choices, when he was in the middle of his despair. I felt I should be able to make him happy. It has taken me a LONG time to realise I am not and never was responsible for HIS choices or his happiness. Nothing that I ever did or did not do could have or would have made any difference to his happiness or to the choice that he made. Likewise if he had made a different decision as your husband did (and I might add that it was a knife-edge choice between the two), that too would have been nothing to do with me. I was powerless to stop him. Likewise, your husband’s choice was his.
    Do not blame yourself.

  5. It will be a difficult day but may help for you to go to one of his favorite places with a special friend. Talk to him there and share your love. It helped me to do that on the 1st anniversary of my brother’s suicide last year. You will make it through. Hugs

  6. On that day, when a 3 joins the ones and twos, you can look at yourself in the mirror and say, “I’m still standing.” “This has been the hardest, most miserable, unfair undertaking, but I’m still standing.” And even if you curl into a ball that day, that’s standing, too. I’m proud of you, Aimee. Hugs and Peace.

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