It's Saturday August 31. It's the first day of Labor Day Weekend. September is less than 24 hours away.
We took Catelyn on our first attempted trip to the hospital ER two years ago tomorrow, and were officially admitted on the evening of Labor Day.
I detest this weekend.
Catelyn's two year angelversary is quickly approaching, and the closer it gets, the more my lungs and heart ache. The space around me is being compressed. I can't seem to get enough air. My heart is being squeezed and I feel like I am going to hyperventilate.
How can it be possible that the weight of Catelyn's death is heavier this year?
I feel like Catelyn, and my memories of her, memories are being lost in the shuffle as time moves forward.
People told me that I would remember more as time moved forward, but I feel like I only have the same handful of memories that I did when she died.
I am not comforted. I want Catelyn to be remembered and not forgotten.
I feel like I am failing her as much as an angel as I did while I could hold her in my arms.
I feel alone in my grief.
I know I'm not, but my head can't convince my heart that I'm not the only one in pain.
I feel like people are forgetting. That makes me sad, and angry, and heartbroken.
I am struggling to find peace as this angelversary approaches. I don't know how others do this...moment by moment, I'm sure...
Grief is certainly a complicated beast.