Every year, as the date nears, I feel a sense of heaviness and gloom. It starts in May — my favorite month with it’s warmer weather, sunny days, leafing trees, and blooming flowers — and of course, my birthday.

Despite the joy of May, I know what’s coming. It’s looming large and I wish it wasn’t.

June 1. The period that punctuated the end of my Dad’s life.

My husband and I bounced out of the cab, bursting with excitement to see our six-year-old son and seven-year-old daughter after a once-in-a-lifetime, two-week trip to Ireland.

Our timing was perfect. We figured they had just gotten off the school bus and would likely be eating a snack with Grandma and Grandpa.

As we clumsily got our ridiculously large suitcases out of the cab’s trunk, we realized it was eerily quiet. No cars in the driveway. The house was closed up. No one was home.

Hmmm. Maybe they went out for a little treat.

As we dragged our bags into the house, there, on the kitchen counter, lay a note.

“We are so sorry for your loss. There’s food in the fridge. Let us know what we can do.”

There are pivotal moments in each of our lives that change everything. There are dates on the calendar every year that we eagerly await like birthdays and anniversaries. Then, there are what I call the “grief dates.” These are the dates few celebrate and even fewer even know about. And, if they do, they have long forgotten.

But, we know and they live large on our calendar — the divorce date of a marriage we thought would last forever, the death dates of our favorite peoples’ passing, the date of the trauma that forever changed how we navigate and view the world.

Every year beginning in mid-May, photos of the gorgeous Ireland landscape pop up on my phone — from the Cliffs of Moher to those of my aunt and uncle at the Burren National Park where we saw a dog wearing sunglasses and smoking a pipe. Among the many, many others is a treasured one taken on 5/31/2009 of my husband and I dressed to the nines holding a falcon at the Ashford Castle. With much of the vacation being part of a company incentive trip, we enjoyed experiences we could only dream of doing on our own. It was amazing!

While I trepidatiously held a falcon in County Mayo on May 31st, my Dad played what was to be his last card game of ‘War’ with our son, set it aside to finish the next day (because there’s school tomorrow), and subsequently died that night in his sleep at our home.

We all have “grief dates", and as the calendar beckons for our attention when they grow near, we each find our way through until it arrives yet again the next year.

Some post Instagram stories with photos and captions celebrating the life of a lost love. Others crawl in bed and wish the day away because the grief is too much to bear. Some turn a negative into a positive and find ways to help others walking a similar traumatic path.

Many deal with “grief dates” quietly with the heaviness of their thoughts and feelings veiling their interactions with unsuspecting strangers, acquaintances, co-workers, friends, and perhaps even family.

We’ve all heard the phrase, “be kind because you never know what someone is going through.”

As I consider my own grief dates, I think of all the people I encounter each day and know that of the 365 days on the calendar, for someone near me their “grief date” is coming soon. It’s part of the human experience and one in which we can all support each other.

If I say I tried a new restaurant, most people will ask me questions. What’s it called? What kind of food is it? What did you have? Did you like it? Would you go again?

If I say it’s my birthday, most people will wish me a ‘Happy Birthday’ and ask me questions. How are you going to celebrate? Did you receive any gifts?

If I say my Dad died on June 1st 15 years ago, most people will clam up or say “I’m sorry” and get uncomfortably quiet, and perhaps change the subject.

Can we begin to embrace the “grief dates” and support each other in this journey? Next time someone mentions a loved one they lost or a trauma they experienced, ask them questions. When was that? How did it happen? Do you want to talk about it? How are you feeling?

Acknowledge the “grief dates” — they are the periods that punctuated a change in a life once known. They are an important, yet largely unacknowledged, part of the human experience that begs for attention, love, and support every year.

What is one simple way you can you can acknowledge others’ grief dates? A phone call? A text? A hug? A conversation? How will you seek support for your own grief dates?

Let’s start a conversation. How do you handle your own “grief dates?” Do you acknowledge others’ “grief dates?” Do you agree/disagree that “grief dates” should be acknowledged? I’d love to hear your thoughts and ideas so please share in the comments!

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