Voldemort moved out just over a year ago. When I was getting the kids’ Easter baskets from the garage last month, maneuvering around the boxes of stuff he’d left behind, I tried to recall last Easter. I drew a blank.
I thought hard. Since Easter was the last Sunday in March this year, I thought about the last Sunday in March last year. It was actually pretty memorable. I had an inkling Voldemort was leaving, although he hadn’t said anything yet. That final March Sunday was when I stumbled on the cache of empty tequila bottles he’d hidden. I was struck dumb by that discovery. We’d really never been hard liquor drinkers, or so I thought. Then I discovered clear evidence to the contrary.
That day, those empty tequila bottles started an avalanche of mental connections for me. All the sick days he took, the morning ritual of coffee, Advil and Pepto capsules. He must’ve been drinking, a lot, in secret, for a long time. And I had completely missed it.
So I remember that last Sunday clearly. But still no Easter memories. It was driving me nuts.
I remember the first Sunday in April last year, as well. I knew it wasn’t Easter because it was the first time I attended a monthly support group meeting and the group doesn’t meet on holidays.
Finally, I dug out my 2012 calendar and turned to April. Ah-ha. Easter was the second Sunday of April. And I still couldn’t dredge up a single memory of the day. I asked my kids. Kid #2 doesn’t remember last Easter either. Kid #3 remembered (rather petulantly, I thought) that last Easter was the first time we didn’t do an egg hunt. “But we still got baskets.”
All I can figure is that my stress and anxiety were so high last year, some mental details were wiped out for me. The really bad stuff (finding the empty bottles, getting the “Dear Susie” email, telling the kids) is crystal clear. But the memory of a beautiful Spring day filled with candy is just gone.