I See What You Meme

In The Waste Land , TS Eliot pontificates that "April is the cruelest month".  In our world, January seems to fit the bill.   January 22, 2009 Right before her first brain surgery First, there are the obvious anniversaries.  Charlotte died on January 7, 2010.  Her diagnosis day was January 20, 2009. That was the moment in time when our world changed forever.  Today (1/22) marks the day of her first brain surgery.  The path of our lives for the next year was fixed at that point.  Our focus was on Charlotte and little else.  January 2009 shaped our lives in a way that few other moments in history ever can.  Then there is the cumulative effect.   The holidays are hard .  In fact, once November hits, all I can really think about are those final days with our daughter.  The Make-A-Wish trip. The reading vigil. The moments watching her decline and anticipating her passing.  These memories converge with opportunites to create "new" memories of the holidays.  Our

On Tuesday, we will mark four years since Charlotte died.  For the last three years, I have approached this date with a mixture of dread, anticipation, and honor.  It always feels strange to me.  For the vast majority of parents, there is one major day that we honor for our child on an annual basis.  It is their birthday.  I still find it surreal that I honor my child on the day of her death.  We know what to do in honoring a birth. There is a party with food, friends, family, the bestowing of gifts, and celebration.  How do we honor a death? To cast a dark shadow over the day seems right at the gut level, but then it immediately feels wrong.  When Charlotte died, we didn't mark the day with morbid black. It was a celebration of pink and purple with music, color, and light.   Of course, I remember Charlotte every day. I think of her when I first wake up and she is one of my last thoughts before bed at night.  I see things that remind me of her.  I hear stories and I wish I cou