The anniversary of Maggie’s diagnosis was three weeks ago. I had been reading about other families and how that day is indelibly marked in their minds. Going through the day I didn’t think of it in the same way, in that I wasn’t sad, or reminiscent of what could have been. It was just another day that I remembered.
My lack of emotion was the most surprising part of it. Though, in some ways I’m proud that it didn’t affect me that much. Rett doesn’t feel like a punch to the gut anymore. At least, not every day. And Maggie is yet to experience some of the worst parts of the disease, so we feel, tentatively, pretty good. But, more importantly, I’m not making a big deal out of the anniversary, because I don’t want to give it that power. Jenny suggested maybe we celebrate my birthday during a happier time next year. But there’s only one way to make it a happy time and that’s to keep celebrating, regardless of what the world throws at you. I celebrate birthdays and births and weddings and anniversaries. I don’t celebrate the 9/11 or other tragedies. Diagnosis day is hardly one to celebrate. Maybe next year, if I’m lucky, I won’t even remember to write about it.