Celebrating his birthday when he’s gone

I woke up yesterday morning with pain in my sinuses and an ache in my jaw. I knew if I didn’t get up and take some medication right then, a full-blown headache would soon knock me down for the count.

With my eyes barely open, I shuffled into the kitchen to swallow two Excedrin capsules. I grabbed some ice packs from the freezer for my neck and head and shuffled back to bed. Still groggy from not enough sleep the night before, it took me a while to figure out what day it was.

Tuesday, May 22. Paul’s birthday.

I’d been anticipating the day ever since I turned the calendar over to May. Or was it the month before when I wished he was here to celebrate my birthday with me? Yet, in all that time, I hadn’t thought about what I’d do on his special day.

I mean, what do you do for your husband’s birthday when he’s not alive to celebrate?

One-year anniversary

Last December, my daughter-in-law thought it would be a good idea to be together on the one-year anniversary of Paul’s death. She suggested we meet at the grave site and, afterwards, have dinner together like we did the day we buried him.

Much like the year before, the gathering required that we brave bone-chilling temperatures and trudge through a deep carpet of snow to get to the big pine tree overlooking his grave.

The girls and I used a snow scraper from the car to make a heart shape around the stick that marks where he lay. Elise propped some pine cones up against it. When Joe and his family arrived, we stood there staring down at the make-shift headstone.

Unlike his funeral, there was no script to follow. Should we say something? Offer up a prayer?

I nervously asked him – but really the kids – to forgive me for not getting his headstone made yet. Emilie stated that she still thought it was unfair that he was gone from us so soon. “I hope you know how much we miss you,” I said.

Dreams undone

In the brief, uncomfortable silence that followed, I thought about how much Paul and I had looked forward to being empty nesters when the girls were done with college. Paul loved to tease them about turning one of their rooms into a “naked room,” per the scene with Terry Bradshaw in the film, Failure to Launch. It would be just the two of us again, able to find pleasure in each other’s company whenever we pleased.  We talked about traveling more, even though we both preferred the comforts of home, and envisioned writing books together.

The familiar ache from dwelling on the loss of our future together came up on me like the sharp sting of heartburn after consuming too much of a good thing. It wasn’t long before the grief spilled over into the moment and my tears moved Joe to place a comforting arm around me.

Keeping him close

As the ice pack began to numb the pain in my head, I had the sinking feeling that I’d failed him. Why hadn’t I made plans with the family? How could I go through the day as if it were any other day?

I picked up my phone to check the time before I had to get on with my plans for the day. That’s when I discovered some friends and family had posted birthday wishes on Paul’s Facebook page. I smiled as I read each one and felt my self-imposed guilt drift away. Their words inspired me to mark Paul’s birthday the same way I’ve marked every day since he left. I would keep him close to me in my thoughts.

Everywhere I went, he came with me. From the gas station to the airport to pick up a friend, he was in my thoughts. From buying stamps at the post office to hanging out with my dad for the afternoon, he followed along. He was especially near when I sat alone playing solitaire while the old folks battled over a game of Hangman.

As I walked to my car at the day’s end, I whispered, “Happy Birthday, Pauli, with all my love.”