Happy Birthday, Jack!

It was a dilemma I had when my son Jack died and for a few years afterwards:  How to answer the question of how many children I have.  I tried to avoid the question whenever possible especially in those early years when the question made me cry.  I hate to cry. I’ve found it doesn’t help a damn thing when done in public.  Makes me feel embarrassed and whoever is with me uncomfortable.

I also found that it doesn’t help to suck it up and put on a happy face.  Those stupid tears come out sideways.  There is no way to short-circuit the grief.  I call it ninja grief; I’m not sure that’s original.  But it does sneak up on you and exact its toll when you least expect it.  Bob and I fought all day yesterday while we re-arranged the house preparing for his younger son, Drew, to move in with us.  Nothing was going as quickly or efficiently as I wanted.  When the meltdown came, it wasn’t as much about the work as about Jack’s impending birthday.

It was somewhat easier the first year after he died.  I pretended like he had gone off to school and would be home.  For some reason, I could trick myself at least most of the time.  It was in the second year that I knew that life without my son, without the laughter that he invited or the anger that he evoked, was a permanent condition.  One of the moms at a Compassionate Friends meeting said the 2nd year is harder than the first in some ways.  That was incomprehensible until I came upon the 2nd year.

I won’t bake a cake, but pictures his niece Nina posted on FB blessed the start of my day.  I can’t call him and tell him the story of  his birth day, but there was a rewind and replay this morning when I woke up as I remembered GE’s joy at her little brother’s birth and that his first baby visitor was his niece Nina, 4-1/2 months his senior.

Today I thought about Jack’s fourth birthday when he woke us with “Happy Birthday to ME!”  I put up a tree and used the old ornaments, the special ornaments, the ones made or picked out by my children.  When he died on January 15, 2009 they had just been packed in tissue and stored.  I haven’t been able to open the boxes where I stored them 6 years ago, but this year, it felt right.

Time eases the active pain.  Like a leg break, there’s always a tenderness.  The reality doesn’t go away, but it doesn’t shut me down today.  I see that one of his favorite movies is replaying and think about how he laughed when we watched it.  I hear a song he liked or run across a new book by an author he admired, and remembering his enthusiasm makes me smile.  Often over this past week, I’ve thought of angry words I said to him and regretted them.  Too late to take them back, but I defy you to name any mother who has lost a child and who doesn’t have those moments.  I can’t.

This is the 6th Christmas that our card has his face on it.  I know other moms who can’t look at pictures of their children after they’ve died.  I am not one of them. I started drawing him on our card because there is comfort in looking at his face.  I do it because he is a real presence in my life and in the lives of his sister and nieces and family and friends.  I don’t want him forgotten.

December 7 would be his 26th birthday.  IS his 26th birthday.  Time didn’t stop when he died.  I wished it had.  I resented it for continuing, for time to keep passing.  “Life goes on” is what I would have said before I realized how life can plod and stumble. But life can also leap and run and dance.  And that’s what the gift of Jack and time give me.

I have TWO children.  Georgie, who lives near Austin, and Jack, who lives in Heaven.

I have TWO children. Georgie, who lives near Austin, and Jack, who lives in Heaven.

I’m feeling thankful
For the small things, today
I’m feeling thankful
For the small things, today

Happy, Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday to me
And to you.
  —David Lowery

About texasgaga

I am a mom, a grandmom (Gaga to my 2nd oldest grand-child), a sister, a friend, a construction estimator, a homeowner, an active member of a 12 step recovery group, an artist, a reader, a survivor, a do it yourself wannabe, a laugher
This entry was posted in Family, Grief, Holidays, Sober Life and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Happy Birthday, Jack!

  1. Dubie Reyes says:

    As a mother myself, I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel or what you went thru, and continue to go thru. I remember Jack when he was little and the times he came to visit at the office. I now remember that Jack and I share a birthday. You know, I wish I had the right thing to say, but I don’t think there is anything I can say to ease your pain. You have overcome so many obstacles in your life and you are one of the strongest women I know. I can’t say that I could do the same. So, I commend you wholeheartedly and I thank you for sharing your stories with me. I still remember you coming into my side of the office, you’d sit in the chair and say, “Tell me a story!” Miss that. (((((Hugs)))))

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