How do you throw a birthday party for an angel? Do you celebrate, reminisce, rejoice? Or do the feelings of pain, grief and emptiness reign? This is one mom’s answer, fully aware that there is no Correct response.
The question of birthdays gnawed at me after the death of my son. Every single painful day of that first year was a trial. Every day, hour, minute was my FIRST as a grieving mom. The FIRST Halloween without Lucas. The first Thanksgiving. Etc. The number 24 tortured me, since he died on the 24th. I hated November 24, despised Christmas Eve, resented January 24 for reminding me of my loss. Times of day also played tricks with me. His accident occurred at 10:35 pm. Most nights I was asleep well before that hour, but if not, sobs wracked my body and shook my soul.
At my first Compassionate Friends (TCF) meeting I listened in amazement as Vilomahs shared thoughts of how to approach birthdays and other milestones. For many members, years had passed, even decades. A few of us were raw in our sorrow, clutching our blue folders, choking on our words. I admired those bereaved fathers and mothers who casually described their plans to celebrate their Angel child’s birthday. His favorite restaurant. Her preferred meal. Invite family and friends, or have a low key, intimate meal at home, in a park, at the beach. No formula! I took all of this in, but on June 19, Luke’s 26th birthday, I found myself completely paralyzed by grief, unable to leave the refuge of my bed. My wonderful friends, understanding, sent 2 dozen red roses. Tears of grief mingled with those of gratitude. Still, I allowed myself the time and space to be truly present with the fact that Lucas died; he will not be in the physical realm again for birthdays or any other occasion. No hugs. No phone calls, “Hey Mom, what’s up?” Not even a lousy text. This is harsh.
Year 2, I was blessed to spend with my living son; even our beloved dog joined us dockside for a delicious brunch. We raised our glasses, toasted Lucas, shared stories, glimpsed butterflies flitting around us. They seemed to say, “I am here with you! Today and every day!”
Year 3.