As a general practice, I prefer not to commemorate unhappy anniversaries. I'm aware of them as they occur, but I usually choose not to participate. On 9/11, I go about my usual business. As the calendar pages flip and fly, like a celluloid montage of time passing us by, the melancholy of my mind takes note of loved ones lost, weeps inside, but remains, for the most part, silent.
I lost my Dad five years ago. I don't really have anything to say about that. I miss him, but he's with me every single day, always. He influences my speech, my mannerisms, my outlook, and my ongoing view of who I want to be when I grow up. My fond memories of him outweigh the circumstances of his final days. We process grief as individuals. I choose to remember his life, not his death.
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