For the past four years, it’s come.
It starts in early October. The exact date isn’t set in stone. My heart just knows when it’s time.
For the first few weeks, it only happens every other day or so. But, as the day approaches, it’s a full on attack. Sometimes several times a day.
How can a thought make my heart skip a beat or just stop altogether?
I thought that it was psychosomatic. I even told myself it was. But that just made me feel crazy. Besides, my therapist told me it was real and I’ve never known her to lie.
Every year, I hope that this will be the last year. That somehow, I will beat the odds and not have to live with this forever.
And every year it comes.
As I write this, my heart is physically aching. Like someone has it clutched in their fist and has pushed it up into my throat. My upper body feels constricted. It’s hard to breathe. Those last few sniffles after a good cry have just escaped. Except I wasn’t crying.
I’m not sentimental. At all. Dates aren’t a big deal to me.
Take December 19, 2009 for example. The day that Alexander died. I think of him throughout the day. I shed some tears. Life goes on. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot.
So why does November 8th have a hold over me? Because,
Today is the day that Alexander died… in my mind.
November 8, 2009 was the day that Alexander’s water broke. I was 25 weeks, 5 days pregnant with Triplets. For whatever reason, I didn’t go into labour for another 4 weeks, 5 days. A part of me believes that it was Alexander giving his life for his sister and brother.