When Sweetest Day isn't

Last year I bought a calendar with spaces big enough to write in, and each night I make notes about the day, a mini journal if you will. Maybe one day my notes will be read by someone who is grieving and it will be helpful. I focus on each day as it comes, not worrying about the yesterdays or looking ahead to tomorrow. The past few days entries have included that I have really been missing Bill. More tears than usual, well more tears than there have been lately. I thought about trying to figure it out, but that took too much energy, so I just went with the ebb and flow and kept Kleenex handy. Tonight as I wrote I noticed what was written in the top right hand corner of the space. And suddenly the extra tears make complete sense. 

Saturday October 17 Sweetest Day

Sweetest Day. The Saturday in October that for years Bill would buy a dozen roses from Kiwanis and bring them home to me with a card. Sometimes there was chocolate and a card. Always though, there was a card. I wasn't good at remembering so he did not get a gift or a card. My subconscious was remembering this year, grieving. 

I miss being his sweetheart. I am thankful that Kleenex makes pocket packs of tissues and that I remembered to make sure I had some in my soccer bag. I need them tonight.