Wow. Grief can be exhausting. I am tired. Feeling kind of weepy. Just drained from everything going on.
It’s been awhile since I’ve been in this place. You would think that I would know the way since I have been here before, but the way “out” changes every time you come back. There is no map, compass or trail of breadcrumbs. It’s all different.
I can’t quite explain what I’m feeling. I know that there is this impending event that will trigger some sadness when it happens, and maybe I’m just bracing myself for the impact. Not sure.
Alex’s second birthday is tomorrow. Tomorrow, he will be celebrating his second birthday in Heaven. An event that should have me up to my eyeballs in details here on Earth… This special celebration is passing along without any tasks for me. No favor bags to make, cakes to order or food to prepare.
There’s no special “birthday boy” shirt or chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. As sad as it is, I don’t even know what his breakfast fare of choice would have been. He died at two months- too young to have any favorite dishes. I don’t know what toys he would have liked, or what he would have wanted for his birthday. Instead of dinosaurs or trains, the “theme” is macabre.
I don’t know what he would have done when we sang him happy birthday. Would he had beamed with pride like Benjamin did, or would he have cried, like I suspect Molly is going to when she turns one?
Lots to think about and too much to process. I want to call a timeout from my life and from all the events that just keep spinning around me to get my bearings and try to think about what this day means to me. I just can’t.
There are things to sign, emails to send and taxes to file. Life inside and outside the office just keeps going. Molly is climbing up stairs, eating solids and shrieking (joyfully) for my attention. Benjamin is dancing to Justin Bieber, singing Gangham style and asking for a snack. Life just keeps going.
Thank God that it does! These funny little people keep me going more than anything else in this entire universe. Wanting them to be happy, healthy, successful… that drives me in a way that even grief can’t prevent. I love these kids. I want to shield them from anything unhappy.
So maybe that’s why I don’t discuss it at home. I endure Benjamin’s statements about “Alex died. That means he’s not here anymore” without tears. I even manage to praise him for his accuracy. It still hurts though.
I miss Alex in a way that seems like it hurts a little more this time of year. Maybe because I understand what two years old is like, and I can’t help but lament that we don’t get to go through any of those two year milestones with him. Maybe it’s because I feel like we have adapted to life without having him here at the dinner table… and that in itself feels sad.
I try to think about how wonderful things are for him in Heaven. I try to think about how happy life must be for him, and I try to ignore the selfish part of me that wants him here at home. I want him here following his older brother around, teasing his little sister, whining for more milk at supper.
I guess his second birthday is nothing more than a calendar date to remember what we have lost and to think about what is missing. Tomorrow I’ll get up and go through the motions, wishing I were still in bed, mourning him like the day he left us.