Sigh. Well, hello, July.

I was little surprised on Monday to realize that it's already the end of June. But moreover, I was surprised, too, because it meant that the fifth anniversary of Charley's death was only a mere two weeks away. Wasn't it just the beginning of June? I wondered, mildly bewildered. How on earth can it already be only two weeks away?

And then Star emailed me this morning, just to say she was thinking of me because she knows that Julys have sucked for me historically. And I hadn't even realized it was July yet.

July 1, huh? Really?

Anna and I have been staying remarkably busy since preschool got out 2 1/2 weeks ago. Swim lessons every morning for the past two weeks, her dance recital and my two nieces' dance recital two weekends ago, playdates with friends, a quick weekend trip to southern Oregon this past weekend, a few fun mommy-and-daughter outings: I've made it my personal mission this summer to be smart and stay on top of things and make sure we stay busy, because I know from far too many summers now that I tend to self-implode in the summer. In the past it's certainly been because of all the grief that wells up more in the summer months because of the death anniversary and Anna's birthday (we won't even talk about last year's new summer disasters), but I also start to unravel because we don't have a set schedule for things. Without preschool, dance team, or our other school-year commitments, I've always tended to isolate and stay home more in the summer...which is never good for me.

But for whatever reason this year--the grace of god, the passing of time and five years of practice at this shit, having a number of friends close by for playdates, or possibly the fact that we're finally seeing nicer weather and sunshine for the first time in almost two months--I've actually been enjoying that it's summer.

Yes. You read that last sentence correctly. Me, the widow who's hated summers for the last five summers, is actually glad that it's summer.

My jaw is still dragging on the floor over that little fact, even though I've been feeling this way ever since school got out. I remember last year being a little glad about summer at the outset because I'd been starving for nicer, hot, summer weather, but then everything else--the stress from work, the unexpected deaths--obliterated any warm fuzzies I initially had about summer.

And it's still early. As I learned last year (and from other previous summers), there's always time for it to go downhill. But I'm trying my damndest this year to not let that happen.

For better or worse, I've been losing track of what day it is for the last week or two. I have to work to remember what day of the week it is, and if it weren't for my cell phone telling me what date it is, I'd have no idea. Which is rather nice, actually. And surprisingly, the Grief Monster hasn't been reminding me what day or month it is either.

If you'd asked me a few months ago, I would have expected that the start of this summer would be no different than previous ones: I'd start getting grumpy at some point--possibly around Memorial Day weekend, maybe in June, or else when Anna got out of preschool--and the funk would settle in for good by the start of July, not to leave until after school resumes in September and Anna's birthday was behind us again. I would have figured that, with the looming Big Fifth Death Anniversary this summer, I might have been wobblier than other summers.

But so far that hasn't been the case. Phew...(and knock on wood...).

Earlier this year I thought I might like to do something to mark the fifth anniversary. Maybe some sort of memorial-ish barbecue with family and friends again, specifically timed for the anniversary of Charley's death. Or maybe a little weekend trip somewhere for Anna and me, to escape and have something fun to look forward to. But now that the day is a mere 11 days away, I really couldn't care less (today and lately, that is).

My grief over the date has been happening in fits and spurts for the last six months. The anticipation, the dread, the sickening weight in my gut that it could possibly have really been five years now since I last saw, held, loved Charley: I've certainly had moments, days, or weeks of anticipatory grief, as I've had to get used to the notion of Five (Big) Years. But now that it's here, I've found that I'm basically used to the idea now. It's not necessarily a comforting bedfellow, but at least it's not strange, frightening, or new to me right now.

But one thing I've noticed over the last month or two is a growing feeling that I'm tired of all this. I'm tired of being "the widow," of habitually viewing things through a lens of grief, of having emergency backup plans in case the Raging Bull in the China Shop (a.k.a., the Grief Monster) races back in. The grief, in and of itself, has been pretty minor or absent this past year. Sure, sure, things always come up here and there, but usually they're short-lived and pretty easily gotten past or around. There's very little that's new or unfamiliar, grief-wise, and most traditionally big grief things this year have not bothered me much at all. And I've noticed in hindsight that I've automatically assumed a defense position against grief, even when it hasn't been as necessary in the last year or more. And it's that defensive-lineman position that I've grown tired of.

I know I don't get to say when I'm "done" being a widow and I know that, yes, grief will continue to pop up here and there over time. There will never be a time when I won't wish that Charley had never died, and I doubt I'll ever stop missing him or wishing he were still alive. But I'm rather sick of the grief, of it being the invisible twin in the empty chair sitting next to me...particularly when I haven't really needed it to be a reserved seat for a long time now.

I've given it five years of my life. But I'm ready to be "done."

My fellow widow friend Stacey and I have talked about this feeling before. And for both of us, it's our status as a single parent (and, for me, also as a stay-at-home single mom) that's more important to our day-to-day lives, not that we're widows. I'll freely tell people that I'm a single parent and stay-at-home mom, but I'll withhold the fact that I'm widowed unless pressed or asked, or if I can't avoid the answer. I just don't feel like going there most days, don't feel like answering the questions or somehow being the all-encompassing Guru of Grief and Loss. The responses I get from people when they first find out are pretty consistent--Oh my gosh, I can't imagine what that would be like, or How ever did you survive it?, or even, How are you now?--and I've found that there's never really an answer I can give them. There aren't any words for this journey to give a stranger or casual acquaintance. Plus, I don't need my loss acknowledged all the time anymore, from everyone I meet, and it gets tiresome sometimes to deal with other people's surprise, discomfort, awkwardness, or even their genuine sympathy when they first find out. It's easier to say nothing about my loss most days.

This attitude has extended toward the fifth anniversary too. In the end, right now, I don't really feel like "doing" anything for it. I have a weekly photography class (a noncredit community-college class that started a week ago) the evening of July 12, which is just fine with me. Maybe Anna and I will do something fun either that day or the next day, which will be Tuesday. (And after last year's surprise grief visit on the Tuesday of the death week instead of on July 12, I wouldn't be surprised if it's that Tuesday this month that will bother me more.) And I may change my mind in the next two weeks, but there's a part of me that, for the first time, is thinking about taking Anna to the weekly Tuesday race at PIR that night. She's never been there to see a race (nor have I since shortly before the first anniversary of Charley's death), and given the interest she's had lately about her dad, it might be helpful to her to see a race there, to see the spot where our lives changed. Doing it at the fifth anniversary seems somehow more appropriate than doing it on some other, quasi-less-significant date. Besides, now she's old enough that some of it might register.

So we'll see. We may end up doing nothing. And unfortunately, we'll see how much my indifferent, laissez-faire attitude changes in the upcoming days. I first started writing this post much earlier today, and I've found that even in just a few short hours and with thinking about the pending death anniversary again/more today, my feelings have already started becoming more changeable.

Eleven days to go. Sigh....

I wonder if an attitude of Out of sight, out of mind might work well for the next two weeks. After five years, I wonder if staying busy and stubbornly distracted might help me forget more than other years.

I'll let you know....