The Birthday Approaches

Here our angel's birthday comes again, as it does every year.  And as with other years, we try to find a way to feel the pain (inevitably) without swimming in it.  Sometimes, we go do something religious together (like go to an LDS temple), or we have a birthday party with angel food cake and little gifts.  Sometimes, we leave town to go on an impromptu vacation, though this works better on her angelversary because it's summer instead of winter with its unpredictable weather.  

This year, we will be spending my angel's birthday celebrating her older sister's special day.  We'll be doing something together not far from home, going to an aquarium with two of my girl's friends, so they can all pet the stingrays.  It should be fun that we'll be together, doing something both our surviving kids love, and it will keep us from dwelling too much on the pain of the day.  

We once had such beautiful visions of a joint princess party with both of our sweet little girls since they are three days apart.  When Alli died, those dreams turned to ash, and every party we had to throw for our girl on our angel's birthday brought with it a sense of added loss and pain.  Now, it seems like a good place to be, anywhere but home, doing anything but dwelling on loss.  We will still have our angel food cake at the end of the day.  We will still look through Alli's picture book by the end of the night.  My girl and my angel will still get their moment that day.  And I know my angel will be with us, celebrating.  I just wish I could see her, hold her.  I know I will break down at least once on or just before that day.  That part is inevitable and as predictable as the day marching toward us on that calendar.  We'll survive, as we always do.  And maybe, just maybe, it won't hurt so badly this time.