August long weekend is the weekend that calls and cards and well wishers let us know that we are being thought of.  “This is a tough weekend.  We are thinking of you.” I appreciate their acknowledgement of our struggle. 

In our family we call it D-Day.  My daughter chose this word for us.  Anniversary is something that should be happy.  Angelversary was suggested and she indicated none of us will be celebrating that. She wants her brother here, not some invisible Angel. Nope, she said we will call this day D-Day, short for Death Day.  It is accurate, it is blunt, raw and it does not celebrate he is somewhere else.  It simply marks the day to which Zane was ripped out of our lives.

This D-Day marks 2 years. I have no idea how I got here. The pain of missing my son was more intense this last year.  I’m not sure if it is that the shock has worn off or that people expect you to be better.  The first year you spend in fear of how do you get through each holiday, special occasion, ordinary days. But you do.  There is support for you; friends, family, grief counsellor…it’s like the first experiences without your loved are unfathomable but if you can get through ‘the first year’,   you will be ok.

Then the second year comes along and screams at you;

“This is now your life.  Every holiday, every special occasion, every day there will be grief.”  

More strength is required. More anger is felt. The heartache continues to dig deep into your soul.  It is not ok.  Not even a little bit. It is a battle, and you fight to get through each day. And you do.

Maybe this is why, as friends stop by to check in, I smile. Their thought that D-Day is the most difficult day for us illustrates the innocence, the blessing they have to not know or understand the life we have now.  

D-Day will come and go. And I will begin my third term as a grief warrior.