I'm sitting here at the computer at 1:30am, unable to sleep. I was laying in bed earlier tonight trying to sleep when it really hit me, really started to sink in that next Thursday, April 7th, will mark one year to the day that I lost my sweet Kit. Oh, I've been aware of the approaching date for quite some time, but it wasn't real, didn't really sink in that next week it will have been a year since cancer stole the best part of me. I've spent the last hour or two tossing and turning in bed, memories flashing through my mind, tears soaking my pillow. How ironic - Kit very rarely saw me cry. I wonder if she sees the tears flowing since she's been gone. I finally gave up on sleep and am sitting here, a glass of scotch at my side. There's more in the bottle. If sleep won't come I'll settle for the blessed numbness.
What do I do on the day? Take the day off work? Avoid people? Thursdays are band practice and a chance to be among friends, but I won't be good company, that's a given. I can't think how useful I'll be at work. If I feel this messed up tonight I will likely be a basket case that day. If I'm with friends how can I ignore the significance of the day, yet how can I burden them by bringing it to their attention. "Hi all. Sorry to be a wet blanket on the evening, but guess what day it is!" Drink a toast to her memory at the pub after practice? I'll play the pipes for her that night. I played at her funeral, and at her memorial later last year, so I can do no less on the anniversary of her death.
Why is it that on nights like this only the bad memories come to mind; the missed opportunities, the things left unsaid, the guilt? I don't want to cope. I just want her back, our lives back. I want things to be the way they were supposed to be, not the way they turned out.
Sorry ... like I said, bad night.
John