Tomorrow is the 11th anniversary of what I consider to be the worst day of my life. It was a Saturday (just like tomorrow is). I woke up early to the sound of my grandparents, aunt, and uncle shuffling around the house. I knew something was up, but they wouldn’t tell me anything. Shortly after I saw my dad’s car coming up our drive way. My dad hadn’t been home in two months. I knew what had happened before he even walked through the door. It wasn’t unexpected, but at 12 years old nothing can prepare you to lose your mom. 11 years later and I still remember the day so clearly. Although it gets easier to deal with, the pain never really goes away.
I have a wedding to go to tomorrow and it’s going to be weird celebrating a new life for my friends, something that’s supposed to be happy. Quite possibly the happiest day of their lives. And it’s on a day that for the past 11 years has always been sad for me.