Impatiently holding the phone in my hand, I waited as the assistant searched for a spot in the schedule for an appointment. When she eventually found an availability, she advised me of the times available on April 1st. Ohhhh, I painfully replied. Not that day, please. It’s the anniversary of my son’s death, and I can’t promise I would show up. She responded with her condolences and suggested April 6th. With a mournful sigh, I let her know that it was his birthday. We both acknowledged that we should move forward in the calendar by a few weeks.
Certainly, this kind of loss cuts deeply every single day. There are points when it is overwhelming, and there are times when it is less intense. When considering milestone days or occasions, you might as well know they are unpredictable. One can’t possibly know how it will play out.
Plans can be made, but they can’t be expected to be kept. Those days—those days that come with a tremendous expectation of hard-hitting gut punches—they can’t be predicted.
Historically, the days leading up to the big days like his death, birthday, and other significant days have been harder than the actual day itself. It’s the anticipation of the heartache, the memories sweeping to the surface, the pain flowing through every pore in my body that makes me anxious and unsure if I will breathe on those days—or if I will want to.
In truth, I miss him so very much every single minute of every single day that even the “milestone” days can’t find a spot in me to be worse.
So here I am on that slippery slope to the anniversary of his passing and his birthday week. My head tells me everything I just shared with you . . . it will be okay; these days are the worst of it.
My heart has a hard time believing it.
If you have lost a loved one and this resonates with you, let me hear from you. You can leave a comment here, or you can email me. Please consider subscribing (button on the right) to get notified of new posts.
I hate navigating the land mines, trying to be normal and fit in, but failing miserably. These interactions remind me how broken and “abnormal” I am. When I say abnormal, I mean the deviance from what was my normal. I cannot do much near Caleb’s deathday, or his birthday, or even my birthday because it was the last time I saw him alive.
Yes, David, I agree with you. I feel as if I am always navigating some new emotion or at least a new level of some of the same ones.
Thank you so much for the post. I am broken, I’m fearful, sad, anxious and depressed. My son David took his life on March 8,2020. His birthday is March 26 and he was born on Easter Sunday, my little Easter egg. It was completely unexpected and shocking. He left a beautiful family that he loved dearly. He was 41 years old. I have been sick with anticipation of these days approaching. How do I get through these dark days ahead, all so close to each other, with grace and acceptance?
Debra, first let me say how sorry I am for the loss of your precious son.These firsts hit so hard. You are so new to this journey and now must face these so soon. Give yourself grace to feel everything you feel. There is no right or wrong way to experience your grief. I have learned so much (and am still learning) through these past almost seven years. One huge thing is LAMENT. God can handle everything we are feeling and it is okay to tell Him about it all. I am and will be praying for you as you go through these difficult days ahead.