In case you were wondering (or wanted to wish me a belated Happy Birthday, whatever’s clever), August 5 was my birthday. And yes, I am aware that this post is almost a month late, but you know what they say… better late than never, right? Afterall, life has been, well, busy. There’s no other way to describe it. And I’ve written and rewritten this post multiple times since starting it. You see, I could’ve written about how birthdays aren’t the same anymore and how terrible it is to not be able to celebrate your day of birth with the one you love, and blah, blah, blah. While birthday celebrations are a lot different since Dave died (and let’s be honest, I’m not as young as I used to be), they aren’t terrible – in fact, they’re pretty great – and I’m going to share why that is.
So, like I said, it was my birthday. I turned 37 and it was just like any other day. My birthday fell on a Wednesday this year. I got up in the morning and practiced having gratitude, worked out to get those endorphins ramped up, took a shower, and got ready, and then moseyed into my home office to start the workday. Even though I had to work, I only had two meetings scheduled. So, besides all the work I was able to hammer out and tasks I was able to cross off my to-do list, it was a relatively relaxed day. After work, my mom and a close friend came over, we ordered dinner, I bought an expensive bottle of wine that reminded me of my 2017 trip to Italy, we ate macarons (my favorite), and Parker and I had a little dance party in the living room, then watched a movie before calling it a night. Like I said … just like any other day (minus the macarons… and expensive wine).
Now, being the fierce Leo queen that I am, when my birthday month rolls around, I have usually tended to go a bit extra and make plans throughout the month to celebrate. Whether it was multiple weekends going bar hopping with friends, getting a room somewhere downtown, going to Cedar Point, or going up north for a weekend, I have always wanted to paint the town red. It didn’t matter what age I was turning. Oh, I’m turning 24? Let’s start the celebrations by going camping and canoeing down the Rifle River for the weekend, and then going on a shopping spree at Birch Run! Oh, I’m turning 24? Let’s kick off the month’s festivities with going out drinking and dancing at Exodos in downtown Detroit! Oh, I’m turning 34? You get the idea. I even used to take the day of my birthday off work and spend the whole day doing whatever made my heart happy.
Dave was always very supportive of all my birthday shenanigans well before we started dating. And for a long time, he was right by my side partaking in whatever debauchery I had planned. After we got married, celebrations still occurred, albeit a little tamer than previous years. And when Parker was born, celebrations calmed down even more. I was OK with this though because I was always surrounded by people that I loved.
My first birthday without Dave in 2017 was surreal, and it was the first time in a long time that I wasn’t excited to celebrate. I was an anxious, tangled all of nerves. I wanted to keep myself busy; keep my mind occupied to try to avoid thinking about Dave not being here. That year, my birthday fell on a Saturday, and I had planned to keep myself busy from Friday to Monday with a weekend full of activities. But I was nervous that something would set me off and I would be miserable and unable to enjoy myself, or that I would drink too much and become an emotional basket case. Even so, Friday came and I told myself it was time to power through. That night, there was a beer and wine tasting event in downtown Detroit, so a small group of us went to that, and then met up with a larger group at Queens bar (such a rad little spot, and one of my favorites). On Saturday, my mom was kind enough to let me throw a party at her house because I wasn’t ready to have people over at my place yet. I was still working on making small changes to help me feel comfortable living there again. On Sunday, I went golfing and then to the U2 concert at Ford Field followed by bar hopping the night away with friends. And Monday was a rest and recovery kind of day. That Monday, while hungover as all hell, I remember thinking to myself that I had succeeded at keeping myself busy and made it through my first birthday without Dave. I didn’t feel proud of this accomplishment, though. I didn’t really feel anything … except numb. And then the grief washed over me like a tidal wave and I broke down because I was exhausted. I was exhausted from being on-the-go the entire weekend, and from putting on a happy face and forcing myself to feel and act like everything was normal and that I was fine, when in reality, I wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine and I was alone once again. I remember thinking, “Christ, is this what it’s going to be like every year now? Am I going to forever loathe my birthday?”
You know, when I went through grief counseling and an 8-week grief workshop, they weren’t kidding when they said the “firsts” would be the hardest – whether it’s the first birthday, first Mother’s Day, or first Christmas – because you’re not just grieving the person who died, you’re also grieving who you were when you were with them and the fact that you won’t make any more memories with them. You won’t laugh together. You’ll never feel their touch again. And through all those firsts, you’re trying to figure out who you are again – who you are without the person who had completed you. You’re trying to figure out how to put yourself back together when the pieces don’t fit like they used to. On my first birthday without Dave, I was still very much broken, but I finally found a way to pick the pieces up and assemble them into something new. I became whole and happy once again because I realized that I owed it not just to Dave, but also myself and my son Parker to live a full life with no regrets. I realized that although a chapter in my life had closed my story wasn’t over. There was a reason I was still breathing, and it wasn’t to squander my life away being miserable and acting all “woe is me” … it was to celebrate life.
Even though Dave isn’t here to celebrate my birthday with me, and say all the wonderful, loving birthday things a husband says to his wife, I still feel a tremendous amount of love because I am seriously blessed in the family and friends department. All I ever really want each year is to celebrate with and be surrounded by the people I love most in the world, and I have been able to do that year-after-year. I should also mention that I have become a firm believer in the “treat yoself” mantra, and have bought myself early birthday presents multiple times leading up to my actual birthday, and then random days throughout the remainder of the month. And you know what? That doesn’t make me a selfish or materialistic person. It makes me human.
I love my birthdays once again and even more nowadays because of Parker. That kid talked about my birthday for two weeks straight prior to the actual day, saying how he couldn’t wait to spend the entire day with me and how my birthday was going to be the best day ever (and boy, was he right). He’s only six-years-old. At such a young age, this kid has more kindness and compassion than most grown adults in their late 30’s. Granted, I would give anything for Dave to be here to celebrate another year around the sun with me, but I know he’s in Parker. I see him in Parker’s eyes and in some of his facial expressions, and I know that even though Dave isn’t here physically, he’s always celebrating with us.
Anyway, my heart is filled with warmth and joy to be going on another trip around the sun, and I look forward to what the Universe has planned for me.
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