In two days it will be the eighth anniversary of my sons death. It will also be my sons 8th birthday. A day filled with joy and pain. A day that he and I find comfort with each other as we talk about how much we both miss him. A day we will celebrate.
We will be happy and give gifts. Eat his favorite dinner and share cake. But we will also remember the sweet boy that spends his birthday in heaven. A day we should be spending with both boys, sharing the joy of turning another year older.
Not many people understand the emotions that come to the surface for me this time of year. Even my husband doesn’t understand or acknowledge my feelings on this day. His are different. He’s able to keep going and only focus on one thing. He doesn’t see me cry. He doesn’t see me fighting to survive. He just doesn’t see me.
It feels so strange to have my son be the one and only person I can talk to, and truly feel that he understands. He was only a baby when his brother died. He was a premie in the NICU, and never met him outside of my womb. But he knew him. He felt him. He loved him the same I did and always will. He misses him every day like I do. He talks about him and asks questions about him all the time. He hugs me when I’m sad, and makes me laugh when I need it. He understands me better than anyone else.
My living children are my reason for living. Without them, I don’t know where I would be. And this week, as my baby turns 8, we will celebrate and remember their day the best way we can.
With a special dinner, cake, and a trip to the cemetery. My son will pick out matching gifts to bring to his brother. He will play at his grave, and bring one home to display and remember that they will always share this new toy. They will always share this day.
This day filled with joy and sadness. Grief and gratitude. Celebrating birth and loss at the same time.
It’s About Time 
Thinking of you and your boys, I can’t imagine. I appreciate you sharing your story and these hard times to help others.
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