The first few May 1sts after that were extremely difficult. I was depressed for the days leading up to them and for several afterwards. Depressed to the level where it was a struggle to do anything. I spent most of those days in bed, hiding away from the world. Then it started to get easier to survive May 1st. And oddly, that made me mad. I didn't want it to be easier to get past those painful anniversaries (his birthday, when he was diagnosed, etc) because it made it seem as though Tom was even further away from me.
Now, six May 1sts later, and I was neither depressed nor angry. I was moody that evening, but it wasn't horrible and it didn't hurt. I want to say that I've accepted his death and I know he's in a better place, etc. etc. And I know all that. I even dreamed a few years ago that he came to check on me. I opened the front door and he was there, as tall and wonderful as ever. There was nothing behind him but the brightest golden light. I was so happy to see him and I told him that I was alright. So yes, I know that he's gone and that he is in a better place. But I'm still disappointed that we aren't sharing a life together. I wouldn't say I'm bitter. I'm just ... disappointed. Maybe once I've moved past that feeling of resentment that he was taken from me, I'll be able to say those things without the underlying layer of disappointment that makes those words sound so fake.
Until then, I survived another May 1st.
|Top Pic: Tom and I at home. Bottom Pic: Tom and I visiting the Busch Brewery on a trip home to meet my family.|
|Tom and I in Jamaica, 2008|