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The 23rd of every month..

Grief writing - Entry 20

For months and months and months I never forgot. I felt it. The 23rd was coming. The 23rd is here. The 23rd is every single month. Miles is one month older. Yesterday he would have been turning 16 months.

But now, more and more, I get a text from a friend or family member reminding me of the 23rd. I know the 23rd is coming days in advance, but the last few months I see a text in the morning and remember, oh yes it is the 23rd, and Miles is remembered by more than just me and Alex.

I love and hate the 23rd. I love being reminded by those who care to reach out the most. But the 23rd is usually a hard day. That toddler with teeth would be stumbling around the house. Bridging joy and laughter and new discoveries in every day. But the house is quiet and now the 23rd is just for me to reflect. I asked my husband just last night, looking at the calendar, at the close of another 23rd, and said "Are we doing enough for Miles on the 23rd?". This question to him came as a reflection of my mom's question on the monthly morning 23rd call, "Did you do something for Miles today?"

"No, not yet. I mean, we walked on the beach." Shit, on that beach walk I meant to write his name on the sand but I forgot.

Did I fail him or myself by forgetting to do what I had intended to do? An opportunity missed.

But does that missed opportunity mean I was living in the moment, living new experiences without the grief so front and center?

I must practice self love and grace and forgive myself for forgetting because, in grief, I think forgetting is really good sometimes.

My intentions and my love for my son are pure and for me, yesterday morning, forgetting the sand writing means I was happy picking up pretty rocks instead of longing for my Miles, the growing son I will never have.

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