It's no surprise it will be a "Frozen" party theme, and I'll get to paint a t-shirt to commemorate the occasion -- something I've done each birthday for several years.
But while I'll be getting the house and yard ready for the party to be here, just as it was last year and would have been the year before had E2 not fallen ill, I'm battling more than the need to get things ready.
The last memory I have of seeing my son, Ethan, was at E's fourth birthday party. In just a few short weeks it will have been a year since he swept me up in one of his big hugs, probably swinging me off my feet just to show me he could. A year since I watched him drifting around the edge of the party, talking to my cousin's attractive stepdaughter and dreaming of being that boy again (OMG that would embarrass him so). A year since he sat in a chair in my yard enjoying hot dogs and cake and ice cream. A year since he left with my parents, my dad stopping to make some smart remark about him that even then made me want to reach into the car and slap my father.
Although it was December before he was gone, he was just a voice on the phone, the one who left an empty place when he didn't show up for family gatherings, an already hard to reckon with distant presence whose life was disintegrating around him.
Four more months he was here, and I never saw him, never hugged him, smelled him, kissed him. How could that be? How could our last time together have been so vague a memory? Rushing around being hostess, just seeing him and glad he was here, stopping to exchange a word here and there?
And so this birthday looms. An anniversary I'm trying not to give too much power, but something I'm struggling with at odd moments all the same.
I'm glad E1 wants the party here. Even though it will be largely the same gathering, minus one, it will keep me busy. I won't have time to look for the ghost that isn't there. I won't have a chance to huddle somewhere trying to put my broken heart back together.
I know birthday parties will always be hard -- although I can hope they will be easier as time goes by. I'll always look for him in the background, always feel the hole left in my family by his death.
all the first are so hard to get through, my heart goes out to you. {{{hugs}}} to you always.
ReplyDeleteIt will be a bittersweet gathering. Hugs to you and your family.
ReplyDeleteAnniversaries can be so hard, especially the earliest ones... He will be there with you, Angela, and you will be making new memories with him, it's just that they'll be far different than anything you could ever have imagined...
ReplyDeleteSending out hugs and love from across these miles...
Yours in healing, hope, and happiness,
~AE
Bittersweet indeed. I'm so sorry for your loss Angela.
ReplyDeleteThank you Tessa, Kay, Annah Elizabeth and Nancy. Tessa and Anna Elizabeth, I feel like we've already been through so much together although we've never met. I think knowing that we're each surviving helps us through the days. The caring and compassion of strangers has meant so much the last 8 months.
ReplyDeleteSending all good thoughts your way on that hard, hard day.
ReplyDeleteEnjoy the day with E5 and know he is probably close by enjoying your company as bad as your missing his. Many hugs my friend. It won't get easier you will just get stronger.
ReplyDeleteThank you Rena and Kelly. I need to get a lot stronger.
ReplyDeleteIt's a new normal. The special days are always the hardest because that's when you notice most that he's missing. My heart breaks for you. I wish I could say it gets better. I still cry every day.
ReplyDelete