It’s October 28th. That means there are 39 days until it’s December 6th. I’ve been avoiding thinking about that day like the plague. My sister keeps bringing it up that she wants to start a tradition of breakfast on or around the 6th. I’ve been avoiding that conversation too. I would rather avoid the day all together. As well as the 7th. That was a bad day too. It’s almost like I want to pretend it never happened. Well, that’s damn near impossible. But what I really want to do is just go to sleep on the 5th and wake up on the 9th. That sounds like a brilliant plan. I just wish I knew how to implement every one of my brilliant plans.

You know what comes right after December 6th? Besides the 7th. It’s Christmas. That’s right, Christmas. It’s hard to be festive and happy. We powered through it somehow last year. I wouldn’t say it was great or wonderful and honestly I don’t even remember much of it. I just remember everyone trying so hard to be happy and festive for my little kiddo. But I digress,

December 6th was the day my brother died. December 7th was the day I ran downstairs and found him.  Somehow, I’ve managed to somewhat feel like I’ve began to move forward. I get these bad days, though, like today where I break down and cry. Where I remember every vivid detail of everything on the 7th. From calling 911 to touching him to calling my mom in Mexico. Everything comes rushing back like it happened ten minutes ago. On bad days, I try to convince the kiddo he needs an early nap because I don’t want him to watch me cry.

I have mixed feelings about the 6th. I don’t want to celebrate or remember the day my brother died. I really don’t want to remember any of it. But I know that’s impossible.  And I know those are only my feelings for today, for this moment. It’s 39 days away until it’s been one full year without Evan. And there are so many, many more without him.

Evan and I had sneaked into Qwest Field for the Seahawks/Jaguars game. This was the game that sent the Seahawks to the Super Bowl.

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