Each year Tony’s birthday seems to hit me differently.
Some people say the first year after losing someone is a fog. I think it only looks that way in hindsight. The first year is an onslaught of pain; around every corner is a reminder, each turn of the calendar is a new first without. Looking back, it feels like a fog of numbness because the heartbreak is a steady drumbeat.
His 44th birthday was the first one and 7 months into life after his death. I was able to gather memories from some of his friends and family. With so many days filled with sadness, that birthday felt a little brighter.
When his next birthday came to pass, I was woefully unprepared. I remember handling the first one so well that I didn’t put much thought into 45. However, the minute I awoke that morning tears sprang to my eyes. I cried on and off all day long. The pain seemed so much sharper. Maybe it’s because our routine without him had started to feel halfway normal and his birthday was a stark reminder to the contrary.
A blend of anticipatory dread and birthday blues filled his 46th birthday. After being caught off guard the previous year, I was mentally ready for a rough day.
This 4th year, I expected the same. Silly me. Grief doesn’t work like that. His birthday was on a Saturday this year and I was a mess the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday before. Every song on the radio hit me in my feels. I found myself randomly crying in the car and at home. His birthday reminded me of how much I miss his presence in my life. One day I had to stop at my parents’ house because I needed a hug by someone I didn’t birth. By the time I got to his 47th birthday on Saturday, I was emotionally exhausted and out of tears.
I’m learning to stop thinking that I’ve figured out grief.
Happy birthday Tony, sure wish you were 47 right now. It’s not fair that I’m older than you now.
