This is cross-posted at The Daily Dave:
One year ago today we learned that Michael had died.
My parents had a hunch something was wrong. I was the one that got the confirmation. I had to call my mom and dad with the news. It was heartbreaking.
I hated Michael so much for making my mother cry.
I didn't start crying until after I had called my parents. I called Britt, who was in Boston that night, and started bawling before he even answered the phone. He couldn't understand me, but knew exactly what had happened.
While I was speaking to Britt, my father was calling Lee and Michon.
All of the calls after that were about logistics. Britt handled the flights and hotel rooms. I don't remember sleeping that night. I do remember the flight to Chicago the next morning. I wanted to punch everybody who said have a nice day.
I knew I would not be having a nice day.
While today has not been a particularly nice day, it hasn't been that difficult for me, either. I can't explain why. Perhaps the date on the calendar isn't a tangible reminder of losing my brother. Maybe I'll feel differently when Britt and I are in synagogue Friday night, and I hear the rabbi read Michael's name on the Yahrzeit list.
Perhaps one year is just too soon to understand a loss so big.