I like dates – no, not that kind, I haven’t had one of those in way too long to even remember if I like them. Calendar dates. I have a mind that remembers them, now less than ever before but I still store a few in my memory’s databank.
I remember a Friday February 28 some twenty years ago, a December 5, 2001, a March 30, 2003; dates which experience marked a significant part of my life. Others I remember just because for no particular reason, I just do.
Significant dates become a point from which I gage everything else in time; “it was two years after that February 28”; “I bought that car two weeks after December 5th” and so on.
Ironically, one of the most significant and dramatic dates in my life was blocked out of my memory; the date when I was diagnosed with Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I can remember the day, the overcast skies, the clothes I wore, the prayer I repeated while I waited. I can still remember the feeling of being in a deep fog when I walked out of that office, but I can’t remember the date.
It was 2 or 3 days before Mother’s day, and 2 or 3 days before my daughter’s birthday. I can remember the feeling of that Mother’s Day when Tati brought me a handmade card phonetically spelled in Spanish that said “I want to spend all the days of my life with you” but I don’t remember the date.
I can try hard and maybe not even so hard to figure it out, but as long as I don’t somehow it puts distance between that day and reality. It makes it feel in some odd way unreal.
And that is how it has always felt - unreal, and I wish it had never been part of my reality.
2 years ago