Today is the one-year anniversary of my divorce becoming final. I wondered how I would feel about this day…turns out I’m sad. And sensitive and vulnerable and confused and agitated and distracted. This morning I told myself to be gentle and kind to “me” today. I have been. I let Maggie stay home from school with what seemed like a growing panic attack, shared my feelings with Sally, practiced yoga, opted out of a potentially contentious MENG Steering Committee meeting, bought myself a good coffee at Arts Elements, stopped to watch the ducks on the pond, and parked myself on the couch to do some writing. Tonight, I’m chairing the al-anon meeting.

So there’s the divorce anniversary–seems weird to combine those words–and there’s also some other anniversaries: 6 years ago, Jake and I had pneumonia. The worst of it hit me in February. Maggie turned 8 and had a birthday party at OHS pool. I felt so lousy there that after the party I took myself to Instacare. This year, I have walking pneumonia. Another February lost to illness. It’s the shortest month of the year, yet it holds these momentous events: my babies born (1998 and 2000); my depression diagnosed (2002); pneumonias suffered (2008 and 2014); Winter Olympics played (2002, 2006, 2010, 2014, etc.). Why do these 28 or 29 days pack such a wallop?