Your body knows. Your mind knows. Even when you don’t realize it, your body has the ability to retain the memories and feelings of time and space. At least that is something that seems to hit me in the face over and over again. Why am I feeling this way? I might ask myself at a particular time, only to realize, at this time a year ago I was in a very difficult place or experiencing something making its imprint on my body memory.

Towards the end of August, I kept thinking “the end of summer that’s why I’m down”. Until it hit me, that the last week of August we used to always take off and go on a family vacation of some kind. Sometimes it was something local like Grand Bend. Other times we went to Disney or New York City in the last week before the kids went back to school. A triumphant last dance with summer. And now that week is punctuated with another date at the end of the summer long sentence. The second anniversary of Dave’s death looming, waiting to make the last week even more final. Summer’s over. School is back. Dave is gone.

I used to love back to school and so did the girls. For them it has to be ruthless to drag themselves into routine at the same time as feeling this body memory. It is for me.

I also loved September as a new beginning. And while the anniversary has now come and gone and that is the date my family and friends might remember, the body memories keep flooding my subconscious.

On the 23rd of September 2015, Dave thought he was finally going to get to the bottom of the brutal headaches he had been experiencing for about a month. Glasses! He thought he finally needed glasses at age 46. So off he went to the optometrist to get his eyes checked. Once there she looked in his beautiful hazel eyes and saw something sinister, although she did not let him know. She sent him off to the ER, right away, to get an MRI.

On September 24th, 2015, we found out that the terrible headaches in fact were the worst kind of sinister. Cancer – capital C. In our old relationship before capital C, Dave was the calm reassuring presence, always. I was the hyper-emotional, worrier, who panicked about most things. On that day, I laid my head on his chest and told him not to worry. I would somehow learn to be the calm one, the steady one. The last thing he needed was for me to fall apart.

On September 26th, 2015 Dave had a craniotomy and de-bulking surgery to remove as much of the tumour as possible. My family and I sat in the waiting room of the surgical unit just before midnight waiting for the outcome. I barely said a word. I closed my eyes for much of the duration of the surgery and prayed hard. One word, over and over. PLEASE. Dave woke up from his surgery making jokes with the nurses. He was good. I was good.

The 27th of September is my birthday. I always loved my birthday because I have a family who makes them very special. The outcome of the surgery was a great gift, but the package it came in was just not wanted. That year, my sister helped Dave get me a beautiful purse that I had been admiring. It’s my favourite purse. I don’t care if it is now ripped inside or the handles are frayed. When it is your birthday everyone wants to see you being happy and celebrating. I must admit, I’m not into it like I used to be. If I could crawl into a hole and stay there from September 3rd (the day he died) right through to October 12th (our anniversary), I would. But I try my best.

Once the tumour was sent off for analysis, we were told it would be a couple of weeks before we got a definitive answer on the type of cancer, although the surgeon was fairly certain it was bad, like the worst kind of bad. We did not google anything or really investigate anything in those two weeks. Dave was trying to heal, I was trying to just exist. And our daughter was just so excited to be turning 12. The follow up with the surgeon for the pathology report was scheduled on her birthday.

October 7, 2015 – our oldest daughter’s 12th birthday. Our appointment. The news that indeed this is the worst capital C. Glioblastoma Multiforme, a death sentence. Fourteen months we were told bluntly, he has 14 months to live. Do all the things you have always wanted to do, live your bucket list. We cried in the parking lot and just held each other. I don’t remember much else from that day, except that I had promised our daughter that she could get a second ear piercing. So we went to the mall and we tried to make it a happy birthday for her while we tried to fathom the news that Dave would be gone in a matter of months.

October 12th, 2015 – Our 13th wedding anniversary. How do you celebrate when you know this could be your last one? We went out for steak and wine. That was after we had to go into the hospital and Dave had to have a couple staples replaced in the 6-inch scar in his skull. I remember the nurse smiling with us over the fact that it was our anniversary. It was a sad, knowing smile.

When I look back now on those dark days, tension creeps up my spine without being able to control it. I get a headache immediately. I feel the same incredible sense of panic, fear, complete discomfort. My throat tightens, my temples pulse. My body remembers. And while nobody else might connect all those dates, and even sometimes I don’t think about it consciously, my body and mind make the connection. My body begins to give me the signs at the end of August. I cry more, I get more headaches, backaches, neck tension, fatigue, confusion, brain fog, apathy…and it continues right through mid October. Not constant, but frequent and unwanted.

Maybe next year I can try to reclaim this time and see it as an opportunity to celebrate that I do get to be here for one more birthday. I do get to celebrate, even though Dave doesn’t get to anymore. I am here and he is not. I am sad and I can still celebrate. Both are possible and my body knows.