This December, I promised myself I would not cry. I promised myself that I was going to be all right for the first time in the seven years since Ben left us.
I promised myself, and I really believed it.
But I was wrong.
We put up the Christmas tree yesterday and James pulled out an ornament from our box of decorations, with Ben's name on it. "This was for my brother," he said, "but he died. I wish he didn't die."
Ah. Me too, baby. Me too.
And so I find myself today, feeling emotional and not wanting to. Thinking of my friend Elizabeth, whose birthday is today, only she, too, is gone, and her absence is one of two gaping holes in my life that will never be filled again.
No, I don't want to cry. I promised myself.
But I lied.