This past Sunday, April 13th, marked the second year since Jimmy died. As the day approached I tumbled back again experiencing the weeks leading up to his death. I replayed that terrible time frame by frame.
Gene, my bereavement shrink (now I go every other week) affirmed that this is natural at "anniversary time." She knows this to be true because she's treated "thousands and thousands of grieving people." A session is not a session without the word "thousands" coming out of her mouth. One day I'm going to ask her to name them.
Here it is only a few days later and already I feel lighter and more focused on the future. How can a number on the calendar can be so powerful?
It may be because we didn't gloss over the day. Several of us visited Jimmy at the cemetery in the morning and then Jackie, Skylar, Doug, my nephew Chuckie, Fanny and my friends Debbie and Henry went to dinner - Connie and Trifon surprised us - met us at Puglia in East Meadow.
So many of Jimmy's core people eating and laughing together twisted the day away from a drowsy, rundown, flu-like feeling. It wasn't a celebration or a tribute. It was simply a bunch of us appreciative to have each other and grateful to be alive and well.