Last year, the American Thanksgiving was on November 27th.
I was watching Survivor just as I am this very moment. Except, I wasn't really watching it. I had pulled the chair next to his bed and I held his hand. Every so often he would make a gasp and I would get worried.
Sometime, maybe half way through Survivor, I felt a chill go through the air, and I felt like something hit me in the chest.
I literally jumped out of my chair and began the biggest freak-out of my lifetime.
I can not relive it right now because it hurts too much. But you can read about the freak out HERE. It is because of this that my husband left me, I am certain. No one will ever convince me otherwise. My daughter died when I had a freak out and my husband died when I had a freak out. That can not be a coincidence.
And so, today is the American Thanksgiving and the only thing I'm grateful for at the moment is that I am Canadian and I already dealt with Thanksgiving this year.
Tomorrow will be 1 year since the day he died at 8:40 pm.
Sunday will be his birthday. He should be turning 39 this year.
He always joked to me that he wouldn't live to see 40.
Deep down, he must've known it to be true.
I always joked that he often acted like an old man.
How ironic that he was already past middle aged when we met on my 18th birthday, which was just a few days after his 23rd.
I've been trying to keep myself busy with organizing my house this week. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I had the thought this afternoon as I threw some old bank statements into the pile for shredding that pretty soon there'll be nothing to show he was real.
Pretty soon his existence will completely vanish.
There'll be no child to continue his branch the family tree, for the only child he had died too. My branch has stopped with me too.
I can't believe it's been a year.
Why couldn't he have been a Survivor.... and not the kind on tv...?