My sister Laura died a year ago today. Conventional wisdom tells me that anniversaries are hard, but that wasn't the case for me. I had many, many harder days in the intervening time. It started to get better after January 1 because I had sort of given myself til then to be as screwed up as I wanted to be, and I was.
I didn't go out; I drank too much; I ate like a supermodel who has lost her Ford Agency contract; I zoned out at work.
But now it is May and I am surrounded by dogwoods and tiny bunnies frolicking in the grass. Every azalea that blooms has my sister in it - she is eternal in that way. The missing her has gotten as bad as it could ever get, I think, and that is a comfort in itself.