TS Eliot would have it that "April is the cruelest month".
Obviously TS had his own scheme of seasonal change and momentous events in mind when he wrote that. He was writing some of the most important poetry in English Literature. He was working on finding and defining the objective correlative for the human condition.

Back at mine we're on a different calendar. Different anniversaries. Smaller stuff.
We've already had the First Christmas since W's death. Through January and February we had the first anniversaries of W's operation and terminal diagnosis respectively.
No celebrations were in order.

In March we had Mother's Day. Neither W nor I had any time for this ersatz, commercial schmaltz. Presents and cards were always handmade. So on Mother's Day 2008 I was given a video featuring the Baby Cherub, and a very young W and Macy.
I can't watch it.

This year without a firm steer away from commercial pap, the Cherub went out and bought a present all on his own. I hate Mother's Day.

Now April's here and the flowers we bought on our last family day out are coming into bloom. That's OK. Who's going to get too cut up about daffodils? But we also have the start of the Big Anniversaries.
On April 20th It will be six months to the day since W died.
By a rather superb twist of fate it will also be 18 years to the exact day that I met W.

You want icing on this cake? I remember the date so well because it's my birthday....

OK Big Hand to TS Eliot, but I think I've outdone his April.