Today.

It's 17 years.

What's interesting is that last weekend it dawned on me that it'll be 11th September soon. I counted in my head which day this week it'd be.

But when my boy was young I distinctly remember when feeding him through the night, sitting with him in my lap, bottle in my hand, and thinking about when it'll be 11th September. Thinking back to what happened.

Thinking about how it changed my life

Thinking about what I now can't do

Thinking about the relationships I've lost

I don't think that way anymore. I don't obsess about the day coming round again. Does that mean I'm getting used to it? Does that mean I'm more content with life?Does that mean I accept the new me?

I can't answer any of those questions. But as my councellor said to me yesterday, I don't need to right now.