We're already setting up plans to do something for my angel's deathdate. We never like to be home for it. It tends to pass slightly less painfully when we're anywhere but home. Last year, we went to Yellowstone. In years past, we've gone to Craters of the Moon, Lava Hot Springs (with a friend who has since passed away), and just about anywhere else we could think of. Last year, I was afraid we'd have to skip travel due to the pandemic, and it was depressing. This year, it's just depressing that the date is coming at all.
I used to like June. It was the beginning of freedom for the kids for summer. I'd have more time than the rest of the year when I was working all day, every day. It wasn't yet the hottest time of the year, still technically spring for most of it. But now, it feels like the whole month has a pall over it, like every day of it marches us closer to the worst day of the year.
This year, we're going up the canyon to do some six-wheeling, zip-lining, and go-kart driving. It all sounds like fun. Or would, if it didn't come with that date. Maybe if we have enough fun, it won't hurt so much. But if the day passes easily and without a lot of pain, I feel guilty, like I'm not missing her enough. That seems to be a common problem for people in mourning, that feeling good in the face of days like this doesn't come without a price tag. Can't we just skip June 29th?
