At the eight-year mark, a blank day
Every day I stare at a calendar that dictates where I'm going and which direction I'm driving every hour of the day. I live by a dumb desk calendar, which rarely gives me a blank square because I'm spread thin over the city of Phoenix between three teen girls, three sports, two different schools and one car. The days go fast. Even with a 5 a.m. wakeup call for varsity cheer practice logistics, my body won't sleep till after midnight. It makes for fast days, faster months and lightspeed years. I wish the calendar gave me time to read a book. Or watch one of my dad's old classic movies. Or spend time doing anything OTHER than being on my phone or driving around the same streets several times a day. But the square is blank today, Matthew. Today, November 19, is eight years since you've been gone. November is the "thankful" month for a lot of people; but for me, it's a month full of reminders of the traumatic day you died in 2017. The cold air and the...
