A Wise Friend

I was told one day by a dear friend that had lost her son to death, as I sobbed into my cup of coffee, that one day, eventually, I would be remember the good times without being shell shocked by the grief of the loss. At the time I did not believe her, I could not fathom ever being far enough from the horror of saying goodbye to think that the good would out weigh the bad.

Birthday #1 after our shared birthday was not that day. I ran, quite literally, away. I couldn't be home. I couldn't be surrounded by well wishers. I needed space and absence and alone. And I took it and had it and survived. My friends and family poured love into me, and I was grateful but I just couldn't be here in the same living room where 365 days before we had celebrated our birthdays together.

Birthday #2 was a total bomb. I stayed home and my family, in an attempt to be sensitive to my need to not be overly happy with my birthday, completely and totally ignored it. Ok so by "my family" I meant my husband and sons. My sister remembered. I really love my sister. And those boys, they did attempt to make it up to me.

Birthday #3 without her was yesterday. And I actually enjoyed myself. I thought of her all day, but with happy thoughts. I thought of who she was and then actually stopped myself when I realized that she is FOUR now. FOUR. I cannot imagine her as that child but the memory of the baby she was sure brings me joy. And then I changed diapers and dealt with a very present teething baby and celebrated my 36 year old self. And my husband and sons? They OUTDID themselves making sure I had a good day feeling loved and cared for and celebrated. I enjoyed my day. I loved my life as it IS not as it WAS. I shocked myself.

I go back and I read my pain of my last birthday and I wonder if I had known what being 35 would bring into my life - the pain, the fear, the joy, the horror, the loss and the love - if I would have KNOWN that last year what would I tell myself? Would I have reminded myself to be thankful for what I have, not ache just for what is lost?

I look back on being 35 and I am glad, so glad to be 36. I lived. I survived. I am thriving. I can honestly say that yesterday I celebrated the fact that I share my birthday with a child I will always love. A precious, absent, child I poured my heart and soul into for one year. A child with whom I have so many memories that I can, almost, celebrate. I celebrated the fact I am the much loved wife, mother and friend of so many. Pieces of my heart may reside elsewhere but I am blessed. So incredibly blessed. I am getting there. I am proud of myself.

May 36 be far more boring than 35.

The Birthday Re-Do (Hints for the After-Thoughtful)

Dear Men,

If your wife flips out on you due to your shocking lack of female intuition (see previous post) beg forgiveness and then make things right.

#1) Provide supper she doesn't have to cook. Yes anything will work, even re-manufactured chicken and soggy potatoes; as long as it comes with wine.

#2) Have children write sappy notes of appreciation to their mother; even if you have to ground them for a week to get them to do it as your wife will eventually have selective amnesia over the sound of boys screaming "But I can't think of ANYTHING" coming from the back bedroom.

#3) Buy a sappy gift, and yes a Willow Tree Angel featuring a mother and son is practically perfect. Other sappy gifts include anything that your wife will feel badly about scoffing at but know that including the child aspect is brilliant and practically guarantees acceptance.

#4) Warn your youngest child that recounting how you said "Let's not go there" when same youngest son tells you how he suggested buying the baby angel to "remind mommy of Lost Babe" might make mommy a bit weepy, but that's ok.

#5) Whispering in your wife's ear as she reads your sappy "After Thoughtful" birthday card if its possible she might consider sex with you in 2009 might be a bit presumptious, but not completely out of character. Bonus points for making her laugh. And the answer is still "maybe, if you're lucky".

#6) Accept all teasing, torture and implications that you are now forever responsible for dirty dishes, sorting laundry and running kids to hockey practice. This will only last until the NEXT birthday to see if you have been changed into a pre-thoughtful version of the man she married.

With Love From,

A now happy wife

Births, Deaths, Anniversaries and Birthdays

Although all days are significant, some days are certainly more significant than others and Saturday was such a day for me.

Saturday, in the lives of each of my boys, was a good and significant day. Saturday morning my goalie child got his first "big team" shut out, which means he didn't allow the other team to score any goals on him at all. It also means I owe him twenty bucks. He was very, very proud.

9 extended family members, many of whom barely know Greg, came out to watch his game at an out of town tournament. He scored on an amazing play, was awarded player of the game (MVP), broke his stick, got a penalty and overall impressed his fans. He was very, very proud.

Eric's team struggled at home going down 3-0 early in the game before coming back and tying a team they have struggled against all year. Again, in the life of a 12 year old boy, a good and significant day.

Saturday was also my Nan's 84th birthday. I called to wish her a happy birthday from the home of my cousin, while holding my cousin's precious son I was meeting for the first time. This baby, also my Nan's 8th great-grandson.

A happy day you think? Yet we all choked back tears because Saturday was also the 9th anniversary of my aunt's death.

My aunt, the mother of the now 20 year old cousin on whose couch I sat, who was not very long ago, a terrified 11 year old little girl who cried in my arms the day I took her to the funeral home and held her as she saw her mommy laid out on a gurney and got to say goodbye.

My aunt, my Nan's precious, much loved, youngest daughter. Her friend. The daughter that called her every day. The daughter that loved the family dinners, the parties we held. The daughter that remembered her mother's birthday every year with special gifts and wonderful acts of thoughtfulness.

My aunt, grandmother to the baby I held. Grandmother to his brother, still a baby himself. Boys that will never know her laugh or the way she could sing a song at every occasion. Boys who won't know that their grandma would have spoilt them with gifts and worried endlessly about their mom.

My aunt. My friend. My fill-in mother when I needed one. Gone 9 years. My boys came home weeks before her death. She was coming to spend Christmas with us, and died a month before. She never met my boys. She never met her grandsons.

My aunt, killed; suddenly, tragically, accidentally on her mother's 75 birthday. 9 Years Ago.

It was a day of significance. And I don't understand why sometimes God, or fate or happenstance so intimately ties together days that you can never forget. We will never forget my Nan's birthday, and because of that, will never forget the day my Aunt died.

And I find my heart filling up with dread for the days ahead because in an awful twist of fate I too share my birthday with a lost "daughter". The baby girl I loved and cherished and held for a year before she was suddenly gone from our lives. The baby girl I could never forget if I ever tried. My baby girl, even if just for a time, even if just in my heart.

Because THAT baby girl and I share a birthday. And I dread it. Once again, after the rush of Christmas and the joy and the expectation comes the weight of another January. Of another birthday. A birthday shared once but now always, forever, apart. She will be 3. I will be 35. I have a lifetime of birthdays ahead to dread.

There is no more joy in my Nan's birthday because of the reminder of the horrific loss we all suffered on that awful November day 1997.

My birthday is also no longer mine. I don't want it to be mine. Instead, this year, as last, I will run away and forget.