People often ask if certain dates get easier.
The honest answer?
Some do.
Some don’t.
For me, March will probably never just be March again.
Most people think grief anniversaries are limited to the day someone died. For me, it’s an entire month. Jesse died on March 25. Three years later, my life is also filled with beautiful reasons to celebrate during that same week. My daughter, April, was born on March 21. My son, Clyde, was born on March 29.
It’s strange to carry so much joy and so much heartbreak inside the same seven days.
Sometimes it feels almost cosmic. Jesse wore number 4 on his recreational hockey team. My children were born four days before and four days after the day we lost him. I don’t know what anyone else would make of that. I only know how it feels to me.
But it isn’t only March.
The Fourth of July reminds me of the family parties I used to host when Jesse was here. Christmas Eve isn’t just another holiday anymore. It reminds me of the traditions that changed forever. New seasons arrive. Hockey starts again. Facebook Memories pops up with a picture I wasn’t expecting.
The calendar remembers.
Even when everyone else has moved on, the calendar quietly reminds me.
I’ve learned to notice something else over the years. Before I even realize why, I become more impatient. Little things bother me more than they normally would. I’m shorter with my husband. I feel overwhelmed more easily. It took me a while to recognize that my mind was remembering the date before I consciously was.
People often say, “Time makes it easier.”
I don’t know that I would describe it that way.
You learn how to carry it better.
You keep living.
You laugh again.
You celebrate birthdays.
You welcome babies into the world.
This year, I would have told Jesse that he became an uncle again. Our son is named Clyde Cooper Vandoloski. We chose Cooper because I needed a way to carry a piece of Jesse forward. It doesn’t lessen the ache that he never got to meet either of my children. Every milestone they reach makes me wonder what kind of uncle he would have been. I can picture him on the floor playing with them, sneaking them candy and toys, making them laugh until their stomachs hurt.
My children lost that relationship.
But so did Jesse.
That’s the part people don’t always see. Grief isn’t only about missing someone in the past. It’s grieving every future they were supposed to be part of.
If you’ve found this because a date on the calendar suddenly feels unbearable, I want you to know you’re not alone. Whether it’s a birthday, a holiday, an anniversary, or just an ordinary Tuesday that carries extraordinary memories, your grief isn’t wrong because it resurfaced.
Hang in there.
I’ve learned that grief isn’t about “getting over it.”
It’s about learning to float instead of sinking.
Some days the water is calm.
Some days the waves knock the wind out of you.
But little by little, you learn that even on the hardest days, you can still keep your head above water.
From Jesse’s Justice
No one should have to walk through grief alone.
Through free grief resources, advocacy, education, and community support, we strive to honor Jesse’s life by helping others navigate theirs.
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🖤♥️ For Jesse. For Justice.