I don’t markedly observe death dates. I don’t feel ‘down’ or visit the cemetery; I don’t mention the fact to those who don’t already know. I think about the significance of the date, sure, but I like to keep my annual rituals happy – there’s already enough to be blue about in the world.
The only thing I do is draw little black curtains around the day on my calendars. It’s enough for me, and adds just the right touch of drama. Fitting.
But today is different. It is the 15th anniversary of my father’s death.