The twins and Erik’s birthday was this past weekend. Yes, all three of them have the exact same birthday. Leading up to this weekend has always been hard for me since Erik’s passing. I wanted so badly to be happy because it was my babies’ birthday, but trying to balance that of deep sadness that Erik would never celebrate another birthday, mostly with them, was proving to be extremely hard. This year was definitely harder than last. That seems to be the theme each year as they get older. I keep thinking that with each year I would be better equipped to deal with these feelings and that somehow it would get slightly easier, but it hasn’t. This birthday hit me hard. It hit me harder than last year. It hit me harder than I even anticipated. The week prior I found myself crying much more than I normally do. But it was that feeling of crying that didn’t feel better with the release. That pit in the stomach type of feeling as I’m crying. Crying because I can’t believe the twins were about to turn 4. Crying because I can’t believe it’s another birthday they have to celebrate without their dad. Crying because I realized that Erik would have been turning 35 this year and how extremely young that was. The whole week leading up to their birthday I noticed I purposely tried not to think about Erik’s birthday. I knew how hard that would be seeing as the twins share his birthday, but in my mind, I kept pushing down any thoughts of Erik. I was already feeling overwhelmed that I was going to be a mom to two four-year-olds and how fast this time had flown by. Yet how I felt like I was right back to the time when Erik passed. As if none of the grief had been processed, yet here I stood with our babies almost turning four. And that’s reality. The reality that my mind sometimes tries to ignore. The fact that Erik is no longer here. The fact that it will now be almost three years since he’s been here. Since he’s aged. Since he’s celebrated a birthday with his kids. Since he’s been alive.
This is one of the milestones that is one of the hardest for me to deal with. As a solo parent, I try very hard for my emotions to not rub off on my kids most days. Their birthday is the biggest one. With them being so young and having lost so much, yet not even know it yet, I often struggle daily with the feeling of needing to grieve for them. To hold that grief for them for as long as I possibly can. To take as much of that pain for them as I can. Because I know what a long road they have ahead of them. So if I have to carry my grief and theirs right now that’s exactly what I will do. That’s exactly what I try to do every day. And that’s exactly what I knew I needed to do for them for this milestone.
As I greeted them the morning of their birthday I saw their eyes light up as they came out of the room and saw the decorations. So happy and excited with no cares in the world. Just as it should be for a four-year-old. And two minutes later just completely out of nowhere Wyatt went to sit on the couch and started crying. Nothing had happened to prompt this crying. There he was just curled on the couch crying. I went over to him and held him to my chest and asked him what was wrong. And he cried harder. That crying that shakes your whole body and that I could feel radiating through me. I hugged him tighter but the crying didn’t stop. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong and so I held him. And with each gasp of air from his crying I felt the tears start to collect in the corners of my eye. His crying felt like such deep sadness of which I was praying he didn’t yet know the feeling of. This intense crying that I haven’t really heard much from him before. And just like that we were both crying. His mood and his crying had been everything I was holding in from the week. All the sadness mixed with the nostalgia of our reality yet also the happiness of how much they are grown and what wonderful little humans they are becoming. All of it being poured out in these tears that now matched my son’s yet still having no idea as to why he was crying. “Are you feeling a little blue, babe?” I asked him. With a nod yes I looked into his eyes and asked why. “I don’t know,” he said. And I looked at this sweet sad face that should be so happy and excited on his birthday and felt like I caught a glimpse of what they would have to go through for the rest of their lives. The grief of not having their dad. Still not knowing what brought on his sadness I held his face in my hands and said it’s okay to be blue. And I held him until he was ready to let go. Just as I will do for their grief.
