Tomorrow, just before dinner, it will be one year since we found out Doria died. One year. That all really happened. It’s going to be beautiful. We have a nice plan put together to relish Doria. It will work perfectly well, unless her sister takes over.
It caused me to think: this really wasn’t the plan. We planned Doria’s birthday party for tomorrow, but it’s supposed to be different. It should involve a party that she won’t remember, and gifts that she doesn’t really notice, and a cake that she can’t eat yet. It should be here in our apartment instead of the cemetery, but that’s not how the party will be.
At this point, we should have a billion pictures, mostly saved for ourselves but a bunch obnoxiously displayed all over Facebook. Instead, we have a very finite collection of beautiful photos from our one day together in the hospital.
We should be lamenting how quickly Doria went through those cute newborn clothes, and laughing about my estimates on diaper sizes, since I stocked up ahead of time like I was filling a fallout shelter. Instead, no one has worn those clothes yet. Everything is still in its original tote, and none of those diapers has been used yet. That means that the house is odor free, which would normally be a very nice thing, but not really this way.
Most of all, it’s stunning that this all happened an entire year ago. I am so glad that the wound isn’t nearly as raw as it was back then, and it leaves me wondering: where exactly did this year go? How did this happen so quickly?
This will be a beautiful weekend. We’ve both been looking forward to it for a while now. I just can’t quite believe that it’s actually here. Where did that time go?