Remembering

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March is rough.  Come mid- to late-February, I start dreading March.  It gets harder and harder each day, until the 19th passes and I can start to breathe again.

They say grief eases with time, and it’s somewhat true.  It’s not the daily struggle to just get out of bed like it was the first year. It’s more like an aimless wandering of thoughts and emotions, some high…some low.  Unless you’ve been through what I have, it’s hard to understand.

Today is March 3, 2016.

It’s been 30 years since I lived what was probably the best period of my entire life; a charmed existence teens dream of;  a seemingly endless stream of concerts, parties, and tightly knit friends. Work was mixed in there somewhere, if you can call it work.  It was too much fun to be work.  Whatever it was, I first started developing into the person I am now right there and then.

It was amazing.

I had no clue.

Man, I wish I could go back, just to revisit those kids and tell them.

Not to chose a different path.  Just to make the one I was on a little different, maybe a little easier?  Maybe a little longer.

I wonder how that would have worked out.

 

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