I forgot the anniversary for three whole hours

Dear Delyara, Today is the anniversary of my husband’s death. For six years, I have woken knowing the date before opening my eyes. This morning, my granddaughter arrived early because her mother had an emergency at work. We made pancakes, walked to the park, argued about whether ducks get cold feet, and built a tower from blocks. At eleven, my sister texted, “Thinking of you today.” Only then did I remember. For three hours, the date had not been the first fact in the room. Guilt came immediately. Then I looked at my granddaughter wearing one of my socks on her hand like a puppet and decided not to punish myself. I remembered my husband all afternoon. I visited his grave later. The good day was not forgetting him. It was discovering that memory could briefly loosen its grip without love falling out of my hands.