The day I’ve been dreading since shortly after Jillian died has arrived. Today is the day she most likely would have started kindergarten. It occurred to me when walking by the elementary school in our old neighborhood that someday would be this day, and I’ve hated the idea ever since.

The past couple of weeks have been a little rough with daily posts on Facebook of friends’ kids starting in various places around the country, but today was the day our town started. Most milestones have been easier than the anticipation, but the opposite was true this time. I planned to stay off of Facebook because of what today is, but I clicked on it, maybe out of habit, and the first thing I saw was a picture of a kid who likely would have been her friend, excited for the first day.

I was gutted. Today has felt like she was left behind more than any other day so far. Other milestones have been her days: her birthday, her due date, the anniversary of her death, etc. Instead, today is everyone else’s day, and she could have, would have, should have been included.

I want to scream at everyone that I’m sorry I didn’t comment on or like their pictures, but I just can’t. It hurts too much. But that would make their happy events about my heartache, so I won’t, and I feel isolated instead. I want to ask how kids’ days went, but I won’t. I hate that I’m having my own little pity party, but I can’t just turn it off. Tomorrow will be a better day.

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