Time passes

August 2. We picked the long weekend, because he thought it would help him remember the date. Bam Margera did the same thing. Plus, we said, it would make transport for out of town guests easier. (Incidentally, it was also my high school boyfriend's birthday.)

I wore a gold dress. Made promises for the future. Used words like "forever". Listened to everyone speak about how they knew we were going to last, because we were so obviously, deeply in love.

That was three years ago. God, has it really been three years? Sometimes, it feels like a lifetime. Like it happened to a stranger.

But then, there's the vivid, all too recent memories. The smell of the fresh cut grass. The sprinkling of rain as we signed the documents under the gazebo. My father's somewhat shaky hand and emotional voice as he walked me down the aisle - they feel like they happened minutes ago.

Yesterday was my wedding anniversary. The logical part of my brain says that I should be over it. It's no biggie. It's just another day.

But still, even in the middle of an amazing trip to New York, I had occasional flashbacks. Bittersweet memories. Feelings of loss, regret, guilt and failure.

Last year, I used that fateful day of the second of August to break the news to people, hiding in bed under the covers as worried phone calls came in from friends and family, just wishing for a reprieve from their sympathy. From the guilt I felt. From the feeling of failure. From the fear of rebuilding my life from scratch.

This year, I swore it would be different. I planned a fun trip, with friends determined to make the most of my first trip to New York. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. It wasn't so much that I needed a distraction as that I needed to create good memories on that day. And I did. But, I still felt emotionally charged all weekend. And, in moments of silence, those few minutes when everything stopped, I felt a little misty. I don't miss being married. We were terrible at it. And, by the end, we were terrible together. We even made each other terrible people.

But, I think, the day makes me sad, and is so hard, because of what it was supposed to represent: Hope. Forever. Love.

I don't know if I'll ever have that again. I am grateful I had it once. And while I'm very, very happy with my life, there is certainly a sense of loss that comes with any kind of ending.

I guess, the best I can do is just hope that every year, that date gets a little bit easier. And maybe learn to acknowledge that Simcoe day may never just be another normal day for me.

(Photo: About Image Photography)