It finally happened. I forgot. When you lose someone days aren't just days anymore. Weeks aren't just weeks and years are a heavy reminder of the chasm that's opening up and swallowing what used to be. Thursdays, a full moon, the sixth day of the month, Bloody Mary's, all hold a certain weight to them that I'm quick to embrace. He deserves that, me marking each passing milestone big or small. But I finally forgot. I ran into an older couple who knew the family and asked who I was married to and, of course, when I told them, they were quick to express their sympathies. I remarked that it was coming up on 19 months, and damn how could it be that long already? Later, as I was driving home, I noticed the date on my phone. It was the ninth. A heart skidding to a halt, a deep gasp, and a hand covering a mouth as realization dawned. 19 months had come and gone. It was the first time since d-day that I hadn't commemorated the passing of another month in som...