How It Is for Kir

My friend Kirsten will be living hell for the next four weeks as the defining moment of her big, little, lost world approaches. The first twelve months is the hardest, but it gets less paralyzing as you reach 13, or 14, or 24.months, but only a teeny bit.

This is how it goes as the anniversary of the death of your soul mate, sweetheart of all sweethearts, never-to-be-replaced lover looms upon you: You are aware that the big one-year anniversary is happening soon so you gear up for that dark day you found out that it really happened. And you anticipate that you will feel like shit for the weeks after the anniversary. What you don't expect is the debilitating depression that starts a month or so earlier. It sneaks up on you insidiously like IBS and you don't dare leave your safe place without medication and a clean pair of pants. Believe me, no amount of baby wipes will get the stink out of your perfect little world. It will always be stained with loss.

And you keep asking yourself, "What the hell is happening to me?" You hate everything about yourself. Your makeup curdles every time it hits your face. Your socks sag. Your pants hike up and your smile droops.

You hang on to anything that feels remotely comfortable and you seek his smell, his nasty bicycling shoes, his sweat-stained hat, and when you find something with a minuscule bit of his DNA, you consider it a sign that he is communicating with you. Hang on to that Baby, because it is real. Even if he has moved on because he knows you'll be fine without him. But you are never, ever the same even when joy comes back into your life.

It's OK when you cry. Everyone will consider that it is just, "Kirsten being Kirsten," And an accepting nod will come from acquaintances and blog stalkers who haven't seen the hell from their business-class seats. But the grief is enormously clear from those that see you every day, or those that birthed you, or love you. It may not be clear to you as it sneaks up and twists your heart so hard that it feels you will never recover, but the handful of those who have lived it know that hell is about to smother you for the weeks right before the anniversary.

And by damn! it happens exactly the same way every effing year. Sneaky bastard!

I've learned to expect it now, but it's taken me years of hell to remember that I begin crumbling about June 1st. And along about June 28th, I realize I got through it and I finally breathe, then crumble from exhaustion. Finally, my friends quit pandering me, and my manager quits putting up with, "It's just Kelly being Kelly." And I find myself on the other side of Hell. And eventually, you are able to breathe for a couple weeks before the annual countdown begins for year two. Then three... eleven...twenty.

If you are a daily friend, know that it will always be hell for Kir. If you are a blog friend, continue to stalk because support is an amazing healer. If you are family, you know her hell because you are going through it too. And if you are the future lover, let her die every August. Carry her to the grave. Set her down on the ground beside the headstone, then take the dogs for a walk. Only come back when the dark, rain laden clouds threaten her safety. One day she will allow you to breathe life back into her big, sad world.

Jed Quilts to You, Kir. I know it's hell right now. Let it be hell because that may be the only thing you have to hang on to this first year. Hug and cry, and seek dogs, and friends, and go to Paul, Idaho as many times as it takes you to get through August. Memorize how the blades of grass seek sun and the swirl of the granite stone wraps around the engraved letters. Take rubbings, and pictures, and wrap your breast as close to him as you can. Make rituals that will carry you through the next fifty years and never break your routine to go to his grave because one day you will find that you are laughing with him instead of crying pitiful tears for him.