Not Quite the 19th

My co-worker's father passed away October 31st. A mere 12 days after my own. Way to steal that spotlight. I thought it might be considerate to ask him on the 31st hoe he's doing with the 4 month anniversary of his father's passing. Then I realized his reprieve. Lucky duck! February only has 28 days-no 31st day as a frigging reminder of what was lost. In fact, most months don't have 31 days. But all months have at least 19. 

Like clockwork, the 19th serves as a chain pulling me back to that night. It seems like the 19th comes earlier and earlier each month. As it approaches, I wait to mourn. I found myself sad on the 11th and thought, no this isn't right. 8 more days then the tears can spill freely for it will have been 4 months. You can't cry at 3 months and 3 weeks. That's just weird.

I'm in denial, you know. Is it possible to be self-aware of your own denial or does that defeat it? Not about his death. I know that's very real. I'm not some 6 year old holding hope my daddy just went to a daddy farm to be with other daddies his own age. Rather, I feel detached from the whole situation. I sit above the tragedy and ride the waves of pain but the current never pulls me under despite the dead weight and heavy heart. When I cry, the tears are as dry as the desert I live in. Is that normal? I accept everything as superficial facts. The details matter not for the outcome never changes. 

Monday is Valentine's Day. A "holiday" of which my husband and I have chosen to abstain. Everyone else will be celebrating love while I prepare for the following week. The 19th. The day I dedicate to death.