I'm not sure why my angel Alli's birthday passed so gracefully, almost (but not quite) painlessly this time. I always brace myself for a tsunami of pain that these dates--her birth and angelversary--always bring with them. I expect the worst. But this time, I was so busy leading up to and through her birthday, that it mostly just played in the back of my mind.
Part of it may also be that I do have babies. I never got my rainbow baby, the baby after loss. I only had miscarriage after miscarriage to the point that I lost count. I think we had somewhere around 15 before I gave up trying. But I have filled the hole she left behind with fur babies, small, loving, friends that are much easier to acquire than a human baby. I adore my cats. I love my older dogs. But when I think baby, I think of my Pom Bean, who I raised from birth. He's my faithful, adoring baby who keeps me the busiest. This really hit home when he was gone for a day to get his baby teeth pulled, and the house got so quiet.
Obviously, a dog or cat cannot truly fill Alli's place. A human baby couldn't do that, either. But between working full time plus a side job and helping with my teenaged kids' needs (since they're home much of the time on Zoom) and writing and caring for my pets, I scarcely have the time to think about my loss and pain.
The significance of the date really hit home twice: once when I was writing her FaceBook birthday tribute and once when we were throwing Alli's brief angelversary party by eating angel food cake and going through her baby book. I'm glad we have these traditions, or I'd wonder if something was wrong with me, that I'd forgotten her or something. I don't know how I could. It does make me wonder if there's a third reason that the day wasn't so hard: have I healed? Is that even possible? I'd like to think I have. But there are moments that tell me I'm not quite there yet. I guess I'll know more when her angelversary comes.
