The 25th of February

Three years ago today, I suffered what I have come to refer to succinctly as, “the loss.” During the first post-loss year, I tried my best to avoid acknowledging the 25th and what it represented, in any month. Early on, friends or family members would do a status check on or around that particular day, and if I had somehow managed to mentally escape the date up to that point, their act of kindness would inadvertently cause some frustration. Then the one-year “anniversary” for lack of a better word, came around. There was no escaping that one, and it was impactful.

Midway through year two, after roughly 18 months of essentially grieving as a full-time job, I found myself truly happy again. I enjoyed the company of other humans, my sense of humor returned, and I was a fully realized me—not the exact same version I was before, but a viable, functional, cordial, and authentic 2.0—maybe 3.0.

I felt as if I must have turbo-grieved so intently and with so much willingness and vigor, that I had more or less made it through. Sure, the loss would always be with me, and there would always be some degree of grieving to be done, but I was back, and the worst of it was well behind me and a thing of the past. I swear, if one could earn a check for exuding hubris, I’d be getting paid by the pound.

Then when February 25th came around the second time, I was a little melancholy, but nothing debilitating or extending beyond a 48-hour window. That’s good, that’s progress. Things should continue getting better with the passage of time, right? I trudged through a seriously sad spell last summer, but some additional factors beyond the loss brought that on, and that episode is another essay for another time.

But I’ve been back on contented cruise control for months. So when February 1st rolled around a few weeks ago, I was operating under the notion that the anniversary this year should faze me less than the last. I currently have good standing in the land of the happy, even more time has gone by, and I should just slide on into March relatively unscathed. But to my surprise, though perhaps nobody else’s, that’s not how things went down.

As I got toward the middle of this month, a dark cloud that I initially failed to recognize crept in. Things I had never considered concerning the fire started popping into my mind. Crazy things, obvious things, very, very sad things. Case in point, I never did ask where they found the cat, and why wasn’t I told or given the option to do something with her remains? That had never occurred to me before. And now finally, a handful of years after the fact, I was suddenly deeply feeling the loss of my all-time favorite pet. I seriously thought that any specific pain or grieving for her had gotten absorbed into the collective loss and I had gotten away clean from that one. Now it happens?

I again found myself unable to focus or too distracted to get much of anything done. I felt lonely, even though I’m not, and insecure and unloved, though I very much am. It was a brand-new ill-fitting jacket of sad and it sucked. But then after a walk in the woods, I had an overdue moment of clarity. I wasn’t trying to avoid the 25th anymore out of self-preservation, I was purposefully ignoring it to evade what I perceived to be halted progress or even regression.

Deep down, I think I was afraid of losing that hard-fought happiness, and I was now attempting to suppress the potentiality of negative emotions with the same level of intensity I had mustered for the fight with fire I had been waging until recently. Each anniversary has affected me differently. Time does heal all wounds, but the emotional impact will likely wax and wane as opposed to the steady and constant tapering I was so dearly hoping for.

On this day three years ago, I lost my love. I lost our cat. And I lost our house. This week it hit me so hard it took my wind. When February comes around, I need to remember that it’s okay to acknowledge and accept my sadness, missteps, and malaise, as much as it is to revel in my progress, success, new love, and new life. And all those things aren’t mutually exclusive. It’s non-linear. I thought I knew all of this already. But it seems that re-realizations are a part of the continuum.

I’ll try my damndest to take all of this with me into next year and future Februaries with hopes for smoother sailing. But I won’t be alarmed if the waters get choppy. Check that - when they get choppy.