Written for my own that day.
Ian looked at the calendar and his stomach churned. The acidic grotesque trace of bile rose up his throat and pooled there in his mouth. He felt his mood tense and darken around him, blindfolding out any possible light of happiness, He knew it was stupid to get angry. It was just a date right? And what was a date? A few numbers on a piece of paper. What happened on any particular day shouldn't really make a difference. But it did, it does.
Anniversaries, a day remembered annually due to an event of lasting consequence. That's what his dictionary said. It had sucked all of the emotion out of the word, all the feelings attached. It didn't speak of the gifts exchanged between romantic partners, or the traditions of birthdays, or the possible pain and anguish.
Those kind of anniversaries were referred to as that day. Accident victims understood that day. It was a dividing line in the sand of life. A clear before and after upon which everything was measured. Only before gets fuzzier and fuzzier, like a picture being pulled out of his frame of vision. Now Ian could only feel after. He looked at the rotted away leg with a hint of disgust. Coated in scars, it was hideous, but it revealed something about him.
It reminded him of his inner self. It was once clean, unmarred, familiar, and whole. Now it too had been torn apart, transformed, made uglier. It started with their words. "Operating is really the best thing." "There should be no pain at all." "It will be so much easier to walk once we get it properly set"
Lies. Every last word. He had known it would go wrong. He had felt it at his very core, yet his parents insisted. "It's not a mistake, honey." "The doctors know what they are doing." "You're just afraid it will be fine." More lies.
Then when it all went wrong, when the crippling waves of pain began, we could no longer use the leg as he had before, it was his fault to the doctors. It was his fault to his parents. All his fault. No one was sorry.
Ian slammed his fist against the table and startled himself with the noise. It had been 5 years, how could he still be so angry? Though he knew why. Stopping the anger would mean he had finally given up. That he had let go. He couldn't let go, he wasn't ready. He didn't know what to do with this epiphany, perhaps he'd know five years from now. He took a long swig of his first beer for the day. "Happy Anniversary" he growled.