Today’s the 20th. Also the 20th month since G died.

Every month I dreaded the 20th. Especially the first months. Then came the holidays, the anniversaries, the birthdays. They’ve come around again. Each month, on the 20th, I spend the day moping and feeling sorry for myself.

Not this month. Today I got up, walked the dogs, went to the gym, made groceries and was halfway home when I realized what day it was. Yesterday I knew it was the 20th. Today? It was just another day. Until I realized it. And when I did? I stopped and bought myself something happy.

And that’s how it’s gonna be from now on. I’m stopping my self imposed exile of good feelings and YAYs! on the 20th from here on out. It’s time. I’m still grieving. I still miss my husband. The actual day he died will still be hard as hell, as will the holidays and other moments when he should be here instead of wherever that magical place he’s supposed to be is. But part of moving on is moving forward and letting go of the things that weigh us down. That damn date on the calendar has done it long enough. The 20th is just another day. It’s my birthday day. Which obviously outweighs any sadness, doncha think?

So it’s been 20 months. From here on out, no more two oh woe.

It’s just another day in what I hope is a long string of days I got left. And by golly I’m gonna enjoy ‘em.

I hope you do too.

(P.S. Next I’m back to the 30 days of truth. Eventually. )

This Saturday I will be on a panel at a blogging conference talking about grief.

This Saturday, I will have to talk about IT.

Yes, IT.

That’s what I refer to IT as. The death of my husband. The beginning, the agonizing middle, the end. The unthinkable choices that I had to make. The death of a life and the birth of unfathomable grief and suffocating guilt.

IT.

I have Dr. Lecter. He is my Grief Monster. My semi-constant companion, with his bag of tricks like insomnia and widow-heimer’s.

IT is my Pennywise. Always with me, with IT’s dead eyes and crazy grin.

IT.

I have talked about IT here on this blog so many times over the last 16 and a half months.

But I’ve never really talked about IT.

But this weekend, I have to. I have to give the words a voice. I have to put a face to the words I have written. I have to come out from behind my keyboard and bring IT with me.

I have to think about and talk about IT, about how IT affected me, about how I leaned on others because of IT. About how IT made a community come together to help me.

IT will always be a part of my life. IT will always be with me. I’ll never get over IT.

But this weekend, I’m taking IT into a place where I will be surrounded by 2500 friends, some known, many unknown.

And I think that after I talk about IT, I’ll sit with my friends and laugh and feel the warmth of the life around me.

And it will still be here.

But I think that it will be ok.

And so will I.

A storm brews in my soul.

A storm that has raged inside of me for the last sixteen months, actually longer than that.

The waves began to churn and the horizon darkened when I found out my daddy had cancer.

The thunder rumbled as he began chemo, radiation, pills of all kinds, an endless parade of doctor’s.

Drops began to fall as quickly as the hairs fell from his head and the pounds dropped from his larger than life frame.

The rain blinded me and lightning struck when Gregory died, leaving me unable to see the shore.

The fog settled on me, pushing me down with it’s cold weight and blurring my sight of the life inside me that I thought surely was gone.

I sloshed along the shores of my grief and anger, often walking in circles again and again, looking for the sun, the moon, the light of anything good.

I began to see flashes along the horizon.

I felt the caress from a slight breeze of hope, a calm healing trade wind.

I began to feel the warmth of the sun, the goodnight kiss of the moon, the stars smiling on me.

I see the moon, and the moon sees me I would tell Gregory in my dreams.

Then the winds changed.

The clouds covered the moon, the sun, the stars.

The whitecaps returned.

The thunder grumbled across my mind like a hungry beast, it’s lightning flashing warnings in my brain.

Then the darkness came and took my father.

And the rain began again.

Slowly, but steady.

And it comes.

And it goes.

Like the waves, it comes crashing in and pulls back out, taunting my mind, my heart , my soul.

The storm brews in my soul still.

I will not drown.

I will not let it take me under.