I have never liked April Fools' Day.
I am incredibly gullible and easily embarrassed. This combination does not serve a person well, especially in his or her most formative years. My dislike was reinforced one year ago today. One year ago today was the worst day of my life so far.
One year ago today, I lost a job I loved, I lost a friend that I loved and I lost seven little souls that I loved.
That I loved, and that I promised to take care of. Whose boo-boos I kissed, who I played hopscotch with, who I made lunch for every day, whose diapers I changed. Who I sometimes still ache for when I remember how they felt in my arms when I rocked them to sleep.
I debated about whether or not to mark the occasion in any way, let alone publish a blog post for all (four of you) to see. The one year mark doesn't feel as significant as I thought it would. And I think that's a good thing.
Has anything good come of this? Perhaps. I don't know that I am better off than I was, but I'm certainly not worse off. They say (I don't know who "they" are) that after a relationship ends, it takes half the time of the length of the relationship to get over it. Am I over it? I don't think so. I won't presume to say that I loved (love) those kids as though they were my own, but I did (do) truly love them, and strongly. Strongly enough so that I don't think the phrase "over it" will ever apply.
But anyway. One year. What a year.