Sometimes, anniversaries can be wonderful things. They can be markers of something great that has happened, a lovely reminder. Yet sometimes, that reminder isn't so lovely, but a stab to the heart of something that would be better forgotten.
My grandmother passed away February 26, 2013. I've been thinking about her ever since. On February 28th, I was still reeling from her death, going to her viewing and to her funeral right about now as well. Now I associate Februarys with her death and the end of February even more so. I usually think of her every day, but it's been worse right about now.
It's just a reminder. Another awful reminder. Of course, no one said anything around then, although my father said something briefly before then. I was thankful for that at least.
These reminders are hard, but I expected them to be harder. This anniversary is a jab, but no worse than ones I feel at subtler reminders of her. If this is the worst, then I guess it isn't so bad. The prepping for it, the dread was worse.
Grief comes out at the strangest moments. At one point, it will barely be there. Others, it will become so powerful it makes you double over.
It's bearable, though. I've managed. And when it's March again, everything will be normal.