Tomorrow is Monday. For most people, it will be just another work week starting. But for me, it is the worst anniversary: two years since we lost Dad.
July 17 used to be just another summer day, but now it looms like an exam I didn’t study for or a long, painful dental appointment.
As this summer approached, I didn’t think about lounging by the pool or trips to the beach. Instead I thought “was Dad in the hospital by now two years ago?” Anxiety festered inside me as I tried to decide how I should observe the day. I worried “what if I missed the anniversary completely? What if I forgot?”
Maybe someday I won’t dread July 17, but I doubt I will ever forget what happened on that terrible day. Continue reading