Eight Birthdays

Today is my oldest daughter’s birthday. I had eleven birthdays of her being my daughter before God called her Home. Today is the eight birthday that she has spent in Heaven. I thought it would get easier with time, and in some ways it has. But in some ways, I find myself struggling even more I think. The first few years we made a special effort to try and commemorate the day with a cake in her honor, sing happy birthday, light a candle and to try and follow our tradition of going to see a movie around her birthday. But as time has gone on, it has just gotten harder and harder to do those things. First we quit singing. Then we quit lighting the candle. Last year, I couldn’t bring myself to make the cake. This year, I have found myself making excuses to not go to the movies. I don’t want the day to pass unnoticed, but I just can’t do it.

It feels weird to me that I am struggling so much with it. In some ways, it feels like I am doing things wrong or out of order. Shouldn’t it be getting easier? Maybe a different or better question is, am I just looking at this the wrong way? Is it getting harder not because my grief itself is getting bigger, but because maybe it is time to make a change? I don’t know. All I know is, I miss her so much and today I’m struggling. Struggling to find peace in the midst of my grief and pain. Struggling to not lash out at those around me. Holding tightly to the knowledge that I am not mad at those around me. Even when it feels like it. I know this anger, this pain, this rage. It is all the could’ve beens, would’ve beens and should’ve beens that will never be. I don’t grieve where she is, because I’m thankful to know where she is. I grieve that she is not here with me.