Just Another Day

Today I went to the dentist for my 6 month check-up and all I could think of as I laid in the chair was, "The last time I was here, Rick was still alive." Music played over the sound system - the same easy listening stuff that usually plays there - and I willed myself not to cry as emotional songs came on. It was kind of like a weird form of torture, to have to lie there motionless with instruments in my mouth while listening to sad songs I've purposely avoided for the last 6 months.

Tomorrow it will be 6 months that Rick's been dead. I touched my wedding rings with my other hand as I laid in the dentist's chair, marveling at how something as mundane as going to the dentist can evoke such emotion.

When it was over, I stood at the reception desk with my calendar open, ready to schedule my next appointment 6 months down the road. The receptionist flipped 6 months ahead. "How about May 18th?" she asked. I shuddered involuntarily.

"Any day but that day," I said quietly. The one year anniversary of Rick's death. Who knows how I'll be memorializing. Who knows what I'll be doing that day. But I definitely don't want to be at the dentist.

Already experiencing a weird 6 month journey in my mind while in the dentist chair, only to hear someone say the words "May 18th" and catapult me into next year felt really odd.

Sometimes I feel like the words "May 18th" are my words. Like no one else should say them. The worst day of my life. But to most people, it's just another day.