Last year this holiday weekend, I was riding a jet ski around Lake Geneva, arms around my husband Eddie, squealing with laughter as we got sprayed with cool water.
This year, I have avoided emails, phone calls and spent the last three days nursing lonely wounds that have gone beyond the possibility of tearful, sweet release.
On Memorial Day last year, I visited my aunt in Wisconsin and drank beers on her patio.
This year my mother-in-law is visiting from India, eating and sleeping a mere three blocks away, and I am not part of her world anymore.
Last year at this time, I was celebrating the Chicago Blackhawks’ blessed run to Stanley Cup glory.
This year, the Hawks are out, and the Bulls too. The Cubs don’t seem primed to lift anyone’s spirits.
In 2010, the spring was unnaturally warm, with 80 degree, sunny days that stretched back into April.
In 2011, I wore my winter coat until May 27, and the rain won’t stop.
Last year I had my health, and my health insurance, and both seemed invincible.
This year I am counting down the days until surgery will relieve my body of a cervical cancer invasion.
A lot of things are different since 365 days ago. Not many of them are upgrades.
becky sarwate 