Firsts

It’s beginning. Today is the first day of the months I have been dreading. The months in which there are too many “firsts,” too close together. In less than two weeks, it will be his birthday. His 50th birthday. Hard to imagine him being 50 – he acts/looks/seems so much younger. He didn’t have even one gray hair or wrinkle – no one could ever believe his age. He would not have wanted a fuss – he did not like birthday fusses. I plan to make one anyway – I cannot let the day go unmarked, uncelebrated.

A month later, in mid-October, my first birthday without him. No flowers, no macaroni and cheese with hotdogs. I also am not a big birthday person, but this one will be very tough.

Then in quick succession, Thanksgiving, Erika’s birthday, Christmas. Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday – hunting, food, Cowboys football, and family all on the same day. This year, Erika and Mom W. will be cooking. Then comes Erika’s birthday the following week. Just like with Matt’s birthday last June, I will face the birthday card. One of the worst moments I have had so far was signing Matt’s card. For twenty five years, I have signed every card “Mom and Dad.” This year the signature was shorter – “Mom.” It felt awful – those were the three saddest, loneliest letters I have ever seen in print. On Erika’s first birthday without her dad, she will be alone, and will take the toughest final of her semester. Just like on Matt’s birthday, I will be thinking and worrying about her.

Then Christmas. This year, I can’t stand the thought of decorating, of putting up a tree. He loved the way I did the tree – he called me Martha Stewart (who of course I can’t stand). He always worked so hard at finding a gift I would love. Sometimes he even went to the dreaded mall – a sacrifice that meant more to me than the gift itself because I knew how much he hated going there.

Last year, his whole family was at our house and it was great. This year will be so very different. We will go home for Christmas this year. Before we moved away, our house was the Christmas house for 30 or so family members, largely because he was the food man. Why would we go anywhere else when we could have Kirk cook for us? People still reminisce about the year he made seafood Newburg, or the time he made some veggie dish everyone loved. We have been meaning to go back home for Christmas for years, ever since we moved away. We never once made it back, which means that the last Christmas at our house back home is now the last Christmas my family ever had with all four of us.

Just a few short days after Christmas, perhaps the worst day of all – our anniversary. The one day of the year that was ours, just ours. It would have been our twenty-ninth. I can’t even write or think about that day yet. And then New Years Eve. Typically, we are the New Years Eve hosts for friends. Again, lots of food, champagne, sometimes some firecrackers. And he loved these little plastic bottles that have a string you pull and streamers come out. This year, there will be no one to kiss when the ball drops.

This feels like way too much for a four month period. I am gathering my fortitude now for it all – trying to clear my head and focus on how I will get through. Focus on appreciation more than loss, gratitude more than pain. What I still have, not what was taken. I want so much to be that person eventually. The person who feels the happiness more than the sadness. I hope she’s in me somewhere.