It has taken me a few days to absorb what Sunday meant. I can give the rundown of the days leading up to Vivienne’s birthday, and even the events of the day, but I’m guessing when people ask “how was it?” they aren’t looking for the sequence of events. There are a lot of complicated emotions associated with her birthday, and I’m still learning about all of them.
It was a hard day, a peaceful day, a day of meaning, a day of sadness, a proud day, a disappointing day, a day of reflection, a day of avoidance, a day of love, a full day, and an empty day. It’s just easier to say it was, and still is, complicated.
The days leading up to her birthday were hard, among the hardest I’ve had since the weeks after we lost her. I cried A LOT, I felt really lost, and I had a few complete and total breakdowns. You are forced to remember everything that led you to this life-changing day. I felt like I hadn’t made any progress in my grief. I was right back in the worst of it.
The day of her birthday was, in some sense, easier than the days before. It helped to be surrounded by family and to know we had so much support out there – it’s like you could feel people praying for you and thinking about you. The biggest help was that we could focus on her. We get very few opportunities to be traditional parents and to do things for our daughter, but Sunday was a day we could do that. And it was also a day when everyone would say her name. I can’t tell you how much I love to hear someone say it. Then she is real to everyone else, not just to her Dad and me.
Her birthday started at church, where a new Christ candle (which is lit at baptisms and other special occasions) was dedicated in Vivienne’s name (generously purchased, without our knowledge, by our families). Yes, I cried, but I was also a pretty proud mother to have a permanent testament to the life of my daughter sitting in front of me. After church, our families came to our home for lunch, cake, and a balloon release.
We had an opportunity as a family to talk about Vivienne, which doesn’t happen very often. This was a time for everyone to say how much they missed her. There were many tears, which was hard. Seeing my Mom cry is something that will never be easy for me. And seeing my nieces cry is even harder. But, it was a necessary part of grieving Vivienne for all of us, and helped me realize that her Dad and I aren’t the only ones who are missing her terribly.
The balloon release was a hopeful moment. We each wrote messages to Vivienne on the balloons and sent them to her in heaven. Two of the balloons, one of which belonged to my niece, got stuck in a tree. She was visibly bothered at the thought that her balloon wouldn’t make it to her cousin, and fortunately, Vivienne sent some breezes that freed the balloon to continue on to her.
Probably the event most representative of her birthday was her birthday cake. First, it came with an indicator of how different Vivienne’s birthday was from most other first birthdays. Turns out, when you order a cake that says “happy 1st birthday,” the bakery assumes you have a child celebrating and gives you an extra “smash” cake for free. This small cake sat on our counter constantly reminding us that it wasn’t a “normal” first birthday. A nice gesture from the bakery, but a kick in the gut for us. And then there was the moment of lighting her birthday candle and singing to her. No one was sure if we should sing “Happy Birthday” but I started us along. And there we were, singing this happy celebratory song through tears. I think that best sums up our day.
After everyone left, Gordon and I settled in to read all of the thoughtful messages we received for her birthday. All of the photos of candles, meaningful images, and acts of kindness provided some healing for us that day. On Sunday, Vivienne’s life had meaning to people outside of our family. She mattered. That meant everything to us.
As the day wore on, I stared at the clock, waiting for the minute she was born. From 9:42 until 9:50, the span of her time here on earth, we sat in near silence.
As I’ve talked to people throughout this week, I keep getting asked if I feel any better now that we have passed her first birthday. I have to say, I just feel different – no better, no worse. A big thing that I’m recognizing right now is acceptance. I am finally accepting that this is not a bad dream that I will wake up from. This is my life. I know that must sound strange that it could take an entire year to finally accept that this is not a nightmare. All I can say is that it’s amazing how much the mind will cling to hope, but eventually, reality does take over. And this is my reality. There is a new sadness that comes with accepting that this can’t be undone, she’ll never be back with us, and we will always recognize her birthday without her.
And that is my daughter’s first birthday. A combination of celebrating her and what she has meant to us, sadness at missing her more (even though I thought that wasn’t possible), and finally coming to terms with the fact that I will not wake up from this nightmare. Complicated, very complicated.
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