He Doesn’t Know What Today Is

He doesn’t know what today is.

He doesn’t know that I lost my favorite person in the whole world 18 years ago today. He doesn’t know that’s when I learned for the first time how unfair life can be. He doesn’t know that I sat down the next day and journaled for the first time. I found catharsis in that moment, and I haven’t stopped. He doesn’t know that.

He doesn’t know how many of the thousands of journal entries that followed were about him. He doesn’t know that I wrote about our forever shortly after we met. He doesn’t know that I scribbled hopelessly that time he broke my heart. He doesn’t know about the lyrics, poems, and pages of nonsense those notebooks hold. Those journals sit in a box in our home, but he doesn’t pry, and I don’t share, so he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know what today is. He doesn’t know how my heart was hurting again on this day ten years ago. He doesn’t know that I was lost in thoughts of love and loss, and what it all means. He doesn’t know that my heart was with my mother, 60 miles away, on the eighth anniversary of losing her second sister to cancer. He doesn’t know, because I didn’t share.

He doesn’t remember where we were ten years ago. He doesn’t remember that I was bouncing a crying baby in the middle of a food court at the mall. He doesn’t remember that I was sad that day, and that our fussy three month old baby could sense the difference in me. He still doesn’t know why I finally said yes, after he had asked no less than two dozen times in the previous year. He doesn’t remember tilting his head and smiling at me as I struggled with that baby. He doesn’t remember leaning over for a kiss and saying, “Marry me.” He doesn’t know that I looked at the man I had loved so fiercely for so long, looked at the beautiful baby boy between us, remembered how short and unfair life can be, and chose Happy.

He doesn’t know what today is, and he might not remember Valentines Day or our Anniversary. It doesn’t much matter to him what day it is. He doesn’t buy flowers for special occasions, but he stops on the side of the road to pick me a bouquet that will kill his allergies just because it’s a Tuesday and he knows I’ll smile. He doesn’t buy heart-shaped candy wrapped in red foil, but he keeps a stash of dark chocolate in the back of the freezer for when I have a bad day. He doesn’t always remember how long we’ve been married, but over the years he has never once left my side without kissing me and telling me he loves me.

He doesn’t know what today is, and I don’t really need him to. I’ll eat my chocolate, look at our beautiful babies, remember how short and unfair life can be, and choose Happy. He’ll notice I’m not myself, cook my favorite meal, and make sure I know that I am loved.