Why I hate Oct. 12th

This is the day I dread. All. year. long.
I know it's a mental thing; if I could just change my attitude it probably wouldn't seem so bad. But really, the entire day goes like this.

7:00 am  10 years ago: (insert number of years that has passed) I just started work, it seemed like a normal day
11:00am 10 years ago: I was talking about what I was going to make for dinner. Crockpot chicken and pineapple over rice
11:30 am 10 years ago: I went home and started dinner in the crockpot
11:50 am 10 years ago: I walked back into work and my supervisor told me something had happened at the pit. He wouldn't tell me what. I walked out leaving my computer on and my headset still hooked up
12:10 pm 10 years ago: I was driving our green and silver Ford pickup to the pit. I remember thinking how slow and long the drive seemed.
12:30 pm 10 years ago: I learned my mom was dead
rest of the day 10 years ago: time stopped, time flew, it's blurred with tears, with words that said the unthinkable, with shock, with horror, with worry about dad, what do we do next, how is it possible to do something else besides stand here and cry. I remember how people's faces looked; twisted, crumpled, empty, yet so full of pain, the pity in the Troopers face who told me I could drive into the scene. I remember voices; choked with sadness, with guilt. I remember random things; worn work boots, the coroners eyes, a dark blue pickup on the scales with 2 dog faces pressed against the window, a blue tarp over what I assumed was what was left of her.

I relive this on October 12th. I don't want to think about the sadness and the loss. But I also don't want to forget it. 

"The steps of faith fall on the seeming void but find the rock beneath"