Today is limbo. Sandwiched between the days that made me.
We were never a big birthday family. We were celebrated with small parties of family members and given thoughtful gifts. We didn’t make a huge deal of the day. We didn’t need to when we were made to feel special every day. I’m glad of that now. I can let my birthday quietly pass without feeling I am missing out on the extravagance. Birthdays in our family are funny that way. Em and Dad share a birthday. Mine is two days after the anniversary.
January 19, 2001 is the day I came into the world.
January 17, 2018 is the day part of me left it.
No matter how many years pass, I will be the sixteen-year-old helping plan her dad’s funeral the day before her seventeenth birthday.
I will be the kid who got one present that year—a shirt from an airport that meant more than any extravagant gift could have.
I will be the kid whispering to her mom while trying to sleep huddled on the floor, “tomorrow’s my birthday.”
I will be the kid quietly telling the people around her that her birthday isn’t really hers anymore.
I will be the kid praying no one tells her happy birthday at the service.
I will be the kid who, even in that day in between when time raced and stood still, knew that this day would always be weird. This week would always be weird.
The abrupt switch from people saying “I’m sorry for your loss” to “happy birthday” was enough to give me whiplash. I know people don’t know what to say to me this week. Do they tell me happy birthday and express their sympathy in one go? Do they opt for one or the other? Do they get caught up in the mess and do neither? The people who know me best know that I just want to be around genuine people. People say stupid things all the time. I’ve heard them all. Intention is what matters most.
As much as this week feels like it should be about me, it never is. I take on the anxiety of people not knowing what to do or say around me. I feel them walking on eggshells. It also feels so strange to be celebrated in the shadow of loss. In some ways it’s easier. I got that “first” out of the way when I was still in a heavy haze. I get the knot in my stomach of the anniversary and my birthday without him all in one week.
I write all of this to say, today is weird. It doesn’t count. It’s like a leap day of sorts. I keep my head down and stay busy until the week passes. And I appreciate all the messages and thoughts that people send my way this week. I read them all and feel it all. If nothing else, this week is always a reminder that I am remembered and so is he.
Comments