I have often written about the duality of grief. The joy of milestones and holidays is so often overshadowed by the sadness of loss. As my husband’s birthday approaches, I feel this duality take hold of me. How much I want to celebrate his life—his triumphs over challenges, his extraordinary abilities as a father, his caring personality, his selflessness, and the loving husband he was. Celebrating all of that was so easy when he was here, but now his birthday is a painful reminder of his absence.
Most holidays I’ve learned to navigate. I let the waves of grief wash over me and take one step forward. But his birthday and our anniversary are always more complicated. We want to celebrate him, to shower him with the love and laughter he brought to our lives, but we can’t—not in the way we want to. I wonder if the kids feel as sad as I do on this day; I know much of the grief I carry is for them. Their loss is so profound and permanent—they will never have another dad. This is the most unbearable part of my grief journey, their pain.
As the ninth of November approaches, I will remember, as I always do, his loud, joyful laugh, his sparkling smile, his calm nature, his kindness, and the all-around incredible person he was. No human is perfect, but he came close, flaws and all. I’ve often told the kids, “I think God needed him more than we did,” as complex and unfair as that feels. There was a magic about him that only a few got to see, and we were the lucky ones. Happy heavenly birthday to the most extraordinary person I will ever know. I love you, I miss you, and I thank you for teaching me so much. 143
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