Always My Gift: Celebrating My Birthday While Missing You
October 16, 2024
It’s my birthday today, and I can’t help but feel the weight of your absence, Orion. Your birth was unlike anything I had ever experienced, a supernatural and redeeming moment after everything we had been through. It felt like all the heartache and struggles of the past were being healed in that sacred space. I remember telling myself, “He will be the best anniversary and birthday gift,” and that thought ignited a fire within me, giving me renewed strength and making me even more eager to meet you, to hold you close, and to begin this new chapter with you by our side. That day felt like everything was being made right, and the love I had for you was more powerful than I ever imagined.
I find myself longing for what could have been, a special dinner and a birthday celebration “almost kidless,” as we called it, just the two of us with you as our third-wheel baby, the best tag along. I envisioned snuggling in the rocking chair, you nestled against my chest, surrounded by the warm glow of a pumpkin candle, with the crisp air flowing through the open window. We would watch countless Lifetime fall movies as the leaves outside twirled gently to the ground, painting the world in hues of orange and gold.
The excitement of dressing you in adorable fall outfits filled my heart. I dreamed of our first trip to the pumpkin patch, where I could capture every smile and coo as we embraced the magic of the season together. I imagined the joy of lighting the candles and having everyone sing happy birthday, watching your eyes shine with wonder at the flickering flames. I even pictured sneaking off while everyone indulged in cake and ice cream, leaving my slice half-eaten to steal a quick nursing session so I could finish my treats. I would then pass you off to your dad or grandparents while they tried to sneak you a taste of icing, despite our tradition of no sweets until your first birthday with your smash cake.
But now, I wrestle with the desire to dress up and look nice while battling a heavy guilt. I find myself questioning, “What if they think I’m done grieving?” or “What if they believe I’ve moved on?” Getting dolled up feels complicated as I confront my postpartum body, which carries the beautiful evidence of you, even though I can no longer hold you in my arms. I brace myself for someone to say, “You have your hands full,” while I hold back the truth of my heart, wanting to respond, “They would be fuller if you were here” or “There’s one of us missing.” When people ask how many kids I have, I hesitate, unsure how to answer. I long to share your story but struggle to find the words, feeling guilty for not mentioning you.
I wear a brave face, trying to be strong for everyone else, knowing they deserve to celebrate and create new memories, even if those memories should include you. Normally, I cherish October; it’s my birthday month and brings a sense of anticipation for the fall. This year, however, I almost wish I could skip it. October feels particularly heavy, being National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month and hosting National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day on the 15th, along with the global Wave of Light event.
Grief is a strange journey. I often feel guilty for the moments of joy and laughter that peek through the tears, for moving forward as if it means forgetting you. I am learning to love and respect my body, even though it’s still a fresh postpartum form without you to cradle in my arms. This body carries the memory of our love and the promise of what might have been.
Today, as I navigate the bittersweetness of my birthday, I carry you with me in every moment. The love I have for you, Orion, is woven into the very fabric of my being. You may not be here physically, but you will always be my greatest gift, always by our side.
This is Love. This is Healing. This is Grief.
