The seventeenth

More often than not, when I'm having a bad day, and I can't put my finger on why, I check the date and it's the seventeenth. 

The seventeenth. Today it's been 23 months since she died. I wish, more than anything right now, that she could be here, giving me a hug. 

I want share my little triumphs with her - the eggplant pizzas that were a success, another exam that went well, a consistent yoga practice that makes me feel strong. She'd be so happy, so proud. 

I wish. I wish. I wish the seventeenth didn't have to come so quickly.