November Second Plus Eight

For the past few years here on this blog, November 2 has been an opportunity to remember my sister, Katheryn. It is her birthday. I usually call my parents to talk a little about nothing in particular on November 2. Neither of us brings up the subject and we talk just like we talked the week before but they always know why I'm calling that day and I know they appreciate the thought. On those calls the strength of the unspoken "we all know we're in this together" reassures them. And me. This year I didn't mark the occasion. I didn't call and I didn't write.

In truth, for the first time, I forgot about it until this evening, a mere 8 days late. I heard a friend discussing some dates and when she named November 2, it clicked. I couldn't show the realization on my face because then I'd have to explain what I just realized. I usually avoid those situations. The sudden awareness strangely hurt and containing it was an exercise in control --especially when all you want from the person next to you is to listen while you plead your case, then reassurance that you're not a bad person.

Most of me feels guilty for forgetting that particular day. A teeny part of me is treating the omission as a sign of some kind of growth, even if that slant is a way of alleviating the guilt. There are more days I live a memory than those days that I forget.

I can rationalize that simply because I remember, it won't change anything.
Forgetting changes something.


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