The First 22nd I Missed

An interesting fact about me is that I have a really good memory for dates and numbers, and I also care a lot about them. This feels a bit like a chicken and an egg thing. Do I care about dates and numbers because I really remember them? Or do I really remember them because they're meaningful for me? 

Well, either way, dates are memorable for me - good ones, like birthdays and anniversaries, and not-so-good ones like death day anniversaries. Mom's death day anniversary is March 22nd, and we're coming up on 3 years since she passed away. But it's not just March 22nd that stands out to me as significant - I have felt a particular pang of grief every single 22nd that has past by since she passed away. 

But, this past December, for the first time, a 22nd passed by without me noticing. I wonder why that was. Is it because so many 22nds have passed by now? Is it because I'm healing and the trauma of the 22nd is taming? Is it because I had recently learned that I was pregnant and was distracted by the excitement?

Maybe it’s a mix of all those things. I know that grief changes over time - it doesn't get smaller, it just changes. And so does the way it shows up. In the early days, every 22nd felt like a punch to the gut - a fresh reminder that another month had passed without her. But as time moves forward, those sharp edges of grief have softened, even though my love and longing for Mom remain.

And then there’s this new chapter - pregnancy, the anticipation of becoming a mom myself. My mind and heart are wrapped up in something so big, so life-changing. Maybe, for the first time, the 22nd didn’t demand my attention because a different kind of milestone was unfolding.

But realizing I missed it? It stung a little in its own way. It’s strange how grief works. Some days, it feels like all I do is miss her, and other days, the realization that I didn’t stop to miss her hurt, too. I know that there’s no right way to do this, and that however I grieve her is okay.

I know March 22nd will always be significant. I know I will still pause on so many 22nds to come. But I also know that missing one doesn’t mean I love Mom any less. Maybe it just means that, in some ways, I’m learning how to carry my grief differently, and that's okay.