One of Two

(Alli new)

Well, we made it through one of two major hurdles that come around every year.  March is my angel's birthday.  June is her angelversary, her death date.  Those two dates still feel way too close together.

The worst part of her birthday was just before, when I wrote the last post, and then the morning of, when it was quiet, and people were writing and calling in sympathy.  I wasn't thinking about it until then.  After that, it was all I could think about.  Fortunately, it was a short day at school.  After I picked up kids, I was swept up in the reality of mommying, especially when I also ended up babysitting my sister's kids.  Then we all went out to eat to make up for not being able to have my girl's party that night.

(Playing with Alli)

At the end of festivities, however, it was time to eat our angel food cake and go through Alli's pictures.  The tears flooded in again.  It's always a pleasure to feel her back with us as I'm looking through those pictures.  The worst part is always when I get to the funeral pictures with her waxen face and, almost worse still, when the pictures run out.  I always feel so empty when I get to that point.

(Viewing)

It made me sad that the kids said they don't really remember her at all.  It has been eight years.  I guess that's a very good reason to go through those pictures at least twice a year, so they can remember her and feel like she's a part of us instead of just a memory.  Sometimes, it's hard to feel like she's more than a memory for me.  I know she's with us as often as she can be.  I know she's still real, an angel watching over us.  But I've gotten so used to the pain that it can be hard to remember the joy.  Some years, her birthday feels more like a celebration of her brief life.  I guess that's the way it should be every year, so she knows we still remember and love her.

An Angel's Birthday

I watched someone I know approach her angel's birthday in fear and trepidation and then have that day fulfill every fear and every expectation for a terrible day.  I saw her pain, her celebration of that child's life through pictures, and above all, the inclusion of others through an invitation to celebrate her little girl's birthday through a joint birthday party.  It was a beautiful, heart-rending thing.  Few things bring back the pain more than birthdays and angelversaries, the day on which the angel got his/her wings. 

I saw all of this from a distance, but my heart ached as I knew at least a part of the pain that family was undergoing.  Each person's loss is unique, and each person's grief hurts in a unique way.  At the same time, there's a unity in grief.  Those who have been through it know what it is to be in the empty arms club, to feel those empty arms and long for one person alone to fill them. 

It warmed my heart to join in the outpouring of love and support for this family.  I know nothing will make that pain any less except time and the healing touch of Jesus Christ.  But I also know few things help more than love, support, and prayers when days like this come with their accompanying sense of pain and renewed loss.  It brings me peace knowing they're getting that support they need.  I wish there was anything any of us could do to make that pain go away.  But it helps to know there are people supporting for you, pulling for you, standing by when these painful days come.  And that's what makes these days survivable.