3 Years: A Day that is Mine

I woke up this morning and didn't immediately think of it.  And when I did, when I realized it was Friday, October 28, 2011, I said to myself "Am I going to freak?  No, I'm O.K."

I am O.K.

When Kevin died I was anything but O.K. despite the fronts that I put on to make it through the day, to feel like less of a burden to those around me.  For the first year or so, Tuesday mornings around 8 a.m. SUCKED.  For months, every single Tuesday around 8 I would feel the weight of his loss on me.  Recalling walking back into the hospital room after calling family to tell them that I did not believe Kevin would make it through the day.  Walking in and watching him take his last breaths.  An image ingrained in my brain like a branding seal of what owned me.

I still remember that morning and nothing will ever make that moment happy or satisfactory, but the devastating emotions that I attached to that morning no longer come with it when I flash to it.  I remember, recall, and then can get on with my life.  I am O.K.

Today after I finish work I will spend the afternoon with people I love enjoying music that I love in a cool place.  It is a new time in my life.  It has become time to recapture all the days that Kevin's death took from me.  This year has been about taking back my life for my own benefit, to create new happy memories to recall on these sad days instead of just the horrible ones.  I can have both.  I can feel both.  I can live in a world of both.

As 8 am rolls past, it having been 3 entire years since I last beheld life in Kevin's body, I will remember.  I will feel that pang of loss, that heartache and heartbeat that recognizes he is not actively a part of my life.  And then I will go on with  my day and be laughing and dancing and clanking a beer tonight enjoying the day that is still mine.