Back to the Beginning

Yesterday was my birthday. This Sunday is Vivienne’s. I’ve been saying since last year that my birthday would be cancelled this year. It’s not because of any vanity I have about turning 40. It just doesn’t feel like an occasion to celebrate. My focus is firmly on Vivienne’s birthday on Sunday and figuring out how I will survive this next milestone.

I’ve written before about how the build up to milestones is more difficult than the actual event. That has been true for me with nearly every one. I was prepared for it with her birthday, and I thought I was managing it OK, or at least as well as I could. Today, it is hitting me with full force, and I feel like I’m back at the beginning.

I got to be distracted by my birthday with a whirlwind of travel and meetings. In my mind, I thought it was working out great because I could act like my birthday just wasn’t happening. I couldn’t be on Facebook for all of the lovely birthday messages. My coworkers knew not to make any announcements or have cake at the meeting, because it wasn’t what I wanted. So, I was able to go through the day with little acknowledgement of my birthday and have it exactly as I wanted. I even managed to make it home in time to have dinner with my husband, which was pretty much the only thing I wanted to do in acknowledgement of my birthday.

This morning, I realized that all this did was distract me from what was really on my mind. Now that my birthday has passed, I have no more distractions. There is nothing powerful enough to pull my attention away from what I have been dancing around for weeks. The time is almost here, and right now, you’d think by looking at me that it happened yesterday.

I’ve often said that one of my most used crying spots is my car. There is something about being alone with my thoughts that just makes it the place I cry most often. I often talk to her in the car, but I was getting better about the crying lately. This morning, as I started my drive to work, and seemingly out of nowhere, I started crying, and I couldn’t stop. As I pulled into the parking lot at work, I tried as hard as I could to pull myself together so I could get to my office, and I couldn’t even manage that (fortunately, I come into work really early, and there’s no one to see me cry my way into the office). As I sat in my office, it was all I could think about. And the tears just kept coming. People came to ask me questions, and I would look up at them with bloodshot eyes, telling them I’m having a hard day. It felt just like my first days back at work.

In every way, I feel very much back at square one right now. Much like the early days, I don’t know how I’m going to manage the next few days. I’m not sure how I’ll get myself out of bed tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop the tears. And I don’t know how anything will ever feel OK again.

I’m back to my old routine that I exercised faithfully in the weeks after Vivienne died. I sit in my office with the door closed for the day, and turn my computer away from the door so no one can see me cry. I move as many meetings as I can, so I don’t have to show my puffy eyes. I go to the cafeteria and grab my lunch early, so I don’t have to be faced with the pregnant women or people asking questions. I race home so that I can be with the only person I want to be with when this happens. And tonight, I will go and cry freely with my tribe at my support group. I’ve figured out how to navigate through it, but I’m still not sure I know how to survive it.

I can now say from experience that I know this feeling won’t last forever. Eventually, I will feel better, and someday, I will laugh again. But as I sit here feeling almost exactly as I did in the days immediately after losing Vivienne, I am finding it very hard to believe.