Time goes on

Today I changed all the calendars in the house from February to March.  I didn’t want to and I cried, hard.  I howled, in fact.  Hyperventilated.  I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to February.  It meant it really happened.  She was gone.  She was supposed to come in February, and she did, but she also died.  Changing the calendars means that time goes on.  It’s a new month.  I don’t want a new month.  I want February.  With my baby.  March can’t bring that wish to me but February could have, and I’m not ready to let that go.  I don’t want to leave her behind in the memory of the past.  Like a handful of sand that is slipping away between your fingers.  You desperately and frantically want to gather the sand back up, but you can’t.  The grains of sand that have slipped away cannot be found again because they are now mixed with the others.  Her arrival is like an aching memory of February that I want to desperately return to but instead her memory is slipping between my fingers as time is forced to move on.