Anniversary Sadness Never Dies

The Great Irving L. Keller, and me.

Fifty years ago today my grandfather died. He was my first best friend, and while there have been others since, none have cared for me like he did. I was the only person with him that day, sitting by his bedside and listening to stories of his youth -- he was 78 at the time -- while the rest of the family was off at some cousin's wedding, or possibly a bar mitzvah, I don't recall which or whose. Yet I remember every detail of those final hours with my grandfather, right up to his last breath. I had just turned 22 and had never witnessed a death before. (And haven't since.)

This morning I woke up in a foul mood. Actually, the mood arrived last evening as I was getting ready for bed and continued through the night with unpleasant dreams adding to the oppressive heat, despite this being Maine. (News flash: it isn't always cold up here!) Breakfast helped, but not enough to dispel the gloom that settled over me like, well, like a gloom. (I've never been good at similes unless I can work in Hitler somehow. The gloom settled over me like I was headed to the showers at Auschwitz?)

Anyway, it dawned on me when I saw the date on the newspaper that July 3 was the day my grandfather died so many years ago, but I feel it like it was last week. Doing some research, I learned that anniversary dates of traumatic events often reactivate feelings experienced during the actual event. "Survivors may experience peaks of anxiety and depression," according to psychologist Susan Silk, PhD, of the American Psychological Association's Disaster Response Network. "Some of the reactions those affected may experience as the anniversary date nears include difficulty concentrating, loss of appetite, irritable outbursts, nightmares, difficulty falling or staying asleep and feelings of detachment from others."

Oh well, at least I'm not at Auschwitz.