I'd spent the last several months freaking out about how to handle 'the anniversary.' It has always been referred to as this horrible, emotional, and worst day of your life kind of sad. So, the best advice I had gathered was to make a plan and quit worrying about it. No problem. I planned to go get the tattoo, and then go to Fairmount horse races. I stopped by the cemetery also. I didn't cry all day. I was happy with my plan and who I was spending the day with. I slept in.
I wish somebody would have warned me about the day after. When you get home, unpack your bag, wash dishes, do laundry...what then? I don't have a tattoo to get every day for the rest of my life. I'm going to have boring days. 1 year and 1 day since Steven died feels no different than day 152 or day 43 or day 290. There is no part of me that feels relieved that I made it through the anniversary. No part of me feels like that's an accomplishment.
When this awful, distracting feeling of loneliness doesn't eat away at me every minute of the day...then I will know. Could be just me feeling more comfortable being alone, or it could be having someone there to fill a tiny piece of that to make it not hurt so freakin bad. I don't know which, and I don't know how I will know that I'm making the right decision. Is this something that I will have to build up courage and be brave, or is it something I just wait for in a sense of 'you'll know when you're ready.' Honestly, I think that's bullshit. Is that what happened when Steven died? The universe thought I was ready to be alone? Was I ready to pick out a cemetery plot? Was I ready to start over again? I don't remember having that feeling at all, nor did I get to choose if I was ready or not. I think this is how it works.
#ineedattention
(When I'd tell Steven that I needed attention, I would get a big hug. I remember making it a point to remember the feeling of his heart beating. Sappy? Yep.)
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