Bittersweet Birthday

 

A birthday cake for the band who put that song in Shrek!

I've mentioned our good friend Susan here before.

Today's her birthday and, honestly, when I wished her a happy one on the socials, all I could muster was "Happy birthday!"

Granted, it was just after midnight but I couldn't seem to find anything else to say without being an ass, frankly.

Maybe what I said seems OK, but I didn't include her name, any nicknames, or witty liners.

I've often said that other people's stories are theirs to tell and Susan is a fairly private soul.

But I know her heart is hurting after a rough stretch of losses, including her mother. I don't think I need to keep that private.

We've discussed that the first time for everything following a death can be difficult.

First holiday season.

First birthday (theirs and yours).

First Thanksgiving.

First anniversary of their passing.

And so on.

There are no rules for how to proceed. I remember trying to drag Mom along after my father died, hoping to shield her from the pain.

Yet, it can't be escaped, especially when sitting at the dinner table, say, on Christmas, and Dad isn't at the head of the table.

Mothers always have a way of making things special. Especially birthdays, I suppose. And so, it has to hurt. No, in fact, it does hurt, especially in the first year.

I feel for Susan today. There's literally nothing I can do to help, outside of trying to make her smile as we texted during the day.

I just hurt for my friend.

With each day, you try to move forward. That's what I remember from 1989 and, I guess, from 2020 as well.

In '89 I was an idiot in my early 20s. I went through various stages of handling that grief. In 2020, I was blindsided by what happened after Mom died, thus negating any grief. 

Still, it was an adjustment.

So I get where Susan is coming from. All I can do is listen and support.

She has a good soul, Susan does. A complicated one, but a good one. 

She's had my back more times than I can remember and has calmed me down more than once.

Tonight, I'm trying to help a little.

I'm hoping these words make up for my rather antiseptic birthday greeting this morning on Facebook. 

Happy birthday, my dear crazy friend. Jane's smiling. Maybe hanging with my parents. Likely hanging with your grandmother. 

She's proud of you. I'm confident of that.

The tears and sadness will continue to flow. That's how this works. Time won't dim it.

Yet, somehow, a day at a time, it will get better.

I'm proud to know you.

We all are.