Anticipation

I usually don't put much stock in the unconscious. I mean, if something's below the level of consciousness, it usually remains there -or, rather, it's kinda hard to discuss it. So much for the cynical part of me.

The second anniversary of my mother's death on July 2 has been sneaking up on me, unconsciously, that bastard. I knew it was coming and have been lucky that Karen and John have been willing to indulge my crazy idea to acknowledge the day on Monday by going for milkshakes at the ChickInn in Ypsi. It's this truly old-fashioned drive-in that happens to have been opened the year my mother was born. They have great milkshakes with freshly mashed banana, which my mother loved. So it seemed like an appropriate place.

I thought that making an explicit plan like this would prevent any of that unconscious nastiness, but I guess I was wrong. I've definitely started being on some kind of emotional edge. Nothing very specific. Just general anticipation of a day I know is somehow different. Last year, my brother and I scattered her ashes in the North Sea, the way she had requested, so we had something to do, and in a lot of ways, it felt like the conclusion of something. This year there's nothing to conclude, but there's also nothing beginning.