Last Wednesday would have been my son’s 29th birthday. I think I would have had a grand time teasing him about how close he was to being old (almost thirty) and celebrating in general his life if he had lived. It’s hard to predict what special days like birthdays and holidays will be like when it comes to my son as the same memories that make me laugh in nostalgia can make me weep in my grief so I just let the days approach and take them as they come—happy or sad, it all directly speaks of the great love that remains in my heart for my child.
I was up rather late that evening and watched as the clock turned from 11:59 PM to 12:00 AM and the thought ran through my mind, “It’s not his birthday anymore.” Not in a melancholy way, but in more of a “just the facts ma’am” kind of way. Then it occurred to me that February 11th really isn’t his birthday anymore. It’s not the day that he celebrates as his birthday (if they do that kind of thing in heaven). Bryan was born into this life on February 11th and placed in my waiting arms to hold and to love with all my heart but it was on March 27th that he was born into his heavenly life and placed into the waiting arms of Jesus who loves Bryan more deeply and wholly than I can ever fathom. Now that gives me a whole new way to view the anniversary of his death. Yes, I will still stop in the hall on that day and tell him that I miss him, but I will also wish him the very happiest of birthdays too.