April 26. I've said that date aloud many times throughout my life. As a perpetual patient, I divulge my birthday at doctor visits, as I coordinate refills, and as I sit impatiently on the phone while sorting out the latest health insurance debacle. When hospitalized, I say it countless times each day, even wearing a bracelet that says it. April 26.
July 20. That’s a date I’ve said aloud many times throughout the last two years. As a fresh widow (#freshwidow – Can I make that a thing?), I divulged that date to insurance companies, banks, and the Department of Motor Vehicles. And even to people who have asked me, “How’s your husband?” without knowing what happened. July 20.
We all have dates that stop us in our tracks — both for good and for bad. And today, July 20, is a not-so-good one. It's the day I laid in a hospital bed with Ramón during his final moments.
Most people have their own version of my July 20. It might be the date they lost a parent, a once-happy anniversary date, or the date something traumatic happened.
This got me thinking about the beauty of treating people with kindness every day. It could always be their date. A friendly interaction could mean the world to someone.
Today has been pleasant. I wore one of Ramón's Wisconsin t-shirts, I went to counseling (convenient), and I even donated to his favorite rescue for hospice dogs. And, best of all, Ramón's scholarship fund is getting close to where it needs to be.
Despite the date, it's been a good day.