For some years, this has been a day of angst for me. One that my body remembers before my mind catches up. Heaviness lies across my shoulders. My head aches and throbs. Anxiety encumbers deep, full breath. My old brain is braced to fight, or flee, or freeze.
But I do not wish for this date to forever hint at trauma, sorrow, disbelief, anger, fury, and rejection. I do not want a visceral, physical reaction when I see this date written, or anticipate its coming.
My desire is for this date to return to being any old day; nondescript and unremarkable. A day of possibility. A day of wide open. A day which remains to be seen. A day which will make its own meaning and choose its own mood.
No reason remains for this to be a day of note. This season no longer holds anniversaries upon anniversaries; a gauntlet to be endured, and navigated, and survived. That part is over. That part is history. That part has been processed and healed.
There is nothing to commemorate in this day. The before stays in the past. I can choose to carry pain forward into each new year, or I can remove this smooth, well-worn, memory-stone from my pocket and lay it down here.
Be gone, painful thoughts. Fly away, sordid memories.
From now on, this day has no inherent meaning. This day is its own bright thing. This day becomes what it, and I, and we decide.
“…Eyes up. Hearts up. Minds sharp. Compassion on full blast. Okay, let’s go.”