For weeks, it sat on my calendar.
Our wedding anniversary.
Every time I looked at the date, I felt a knot in my stomach.
Friends would gently ask, "Do you have any plans?" and I never quite knew how to answer. The truth was, I was trying not to think about it. I hoped that if I ignored the date, it might somehow pass without hurting so much.
Of course, it didn't.
I woke up that morning with the same heavy feeling I'd been carrying for weeks. The house seemed quieter than usual, and even making breakfast felt different. I kept thinking about all the anniversaries we'd celebrated together—the fancy dinners when we were younger, the cosy meals at home as we got older, and the years when simply sitting together with a takeaway felt like the perfect celebration.
Every memory was precious.
Every memory hurt.
Part of me wanted to stay in bed all day and let the hours pass unnoticed.
Another part of me felt that the day deserved to be acknowledged.
In the end, I chose something simple.
I visited our favourite park.
It wasn't a grand gesture. I didn't need to make a ceremony out of it. I simply walked the same path we had walked together so many times before.
I smiled at memories that surfaced along the way.
I cried when I needed to.
I sat on a bench we'd often shared and spent a few quiet minutes saying the things I wished I could still say.
When I returned home, something unexpected happened.
I didn't feel "better."
But I did feel lighter.
Not because the grief had disappeared, but because I had stopped fighting the day.
I'd allowed myself to experience it instead of fearing it.
Since then, I've learned that anniversaries don't have to look a certain way.
Some years, you may want to spend the day with family.
Other years, you might prefer complete solitude.
You may light a candle, visit a meaningful place, cook their favourite meal, or simply take a quiet walk.
There is no right or wrong way to honour someone you love.
What matters is giving yourself permission to do what feels comforting—not what others expect.
If an anniversary is approaching and you're already feeling anxious, be gentle with yourself.
You don't have to be strong every minute of the day.
You don't have to pretend it's just another date on the calendar.
It's okay if you laugh at a happy memory.
It's okay if you cry over one that's painful.
Both are expressions of love.
Over time, these special dates may never become easy, but they often become less frightening.
You learn that you can carry both the sadness of what you've lost and the gratitude for what you shared.
And perhaps that's one of the quietest forms of healing—not forgetting the day, but finding a way to live through it with love, grace, and hope for the days still to come.