The first anniversary of his death is soon.
I’ve been warned by several people that significant dates can be troubling.
The first week of November is my father’s birthday. He would have been 56.
The third week of November is the day he died. A few days later is Thanksgiving.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m psyching myself up or because the time of year really has an effect on my feelings, but I can feel little storm clouds gathering. It feels as though I may be swallowed up, not yet, but soon. There’s potential. I’m scared.
