Birthday Eve

It feels like an ordinary Monday. I awake around 7:30AM, freshen up and wash my face.  I turn on the hot water pot in the kitchen and place a spicy Good Earth tea bag in my reusable Starbucks cup. While I wait for the water to boil, I walk around the one main room of the farmhouse and slowly push up the woven blinds, allowing the light to filter in.  It’s a soggy wet sort of morning and there isn’t any sun to be seen. The roosters are noisy—yes, that is plural because we have five.  It’s a Christmas miracle they are all getting along! They came from Julian’s chicken eggs that hatched and his little people friends painstakingly raised, cradled and nurtured them o so tenderly. We just could not harvest them. The big fluffy feathers of the Frizzle breed makes them look larger than life and a little fancy, like they are headed to a very important party.

Here’s the thing, today is the day I should be finishing up the last touches for a very special three-year-old’s birthday party. Instead, I sit with my tea on my oversized, tufted yellow couch and begin answering some emails. I keep plowing through my tasks. One by one, I open the email, I respond to what’s needed and reply. I like that about myself, that I am so efficient. I delete old emails that are no longer useful and try to keep my desktop tidy. And yet my heart is not efficient nor tidy. It knows what today is. I become restless in my seat and take a break. I check on the crockpot and make sure the southwest chicken smothered in homemade salsa is cooking, and it is. The room is filled with the smells of garlic, cilantro and deliciousness.The big kids will be joining us for family dinner tonight. After all, it’s an ordinary Monday.

I snag an orange, pretending like I can just eat a little breakfast and get back to work, and as I begin to peel, I can no longer hold the tears. At first my face gets warm and the dam of tears make my eyes feel like they are going to bulge clear out of my head. until one or two break loose. Soon, they are streaming down my face. Next comes the gut-wrenching sobs. I have to hold onto the sink to keep from sliding down to the ground. I feel the missing and the heartache and the wishes for tomorrow so strongly. In my head, I know I will be okay and I must push forward. I’m allowing myself a moment just to be sad, disappointed and a little bit mad that I am working instead of making a birthday cake for my little man. 

A birthday-party plan should have been in full affect by now. I should have been a little bit frazzled and giddy with excitement, anticipating Julian’s reaction to his special day.  And instead, I’m holding onto the kitchen sink bracing myself against the flood of tears.  Only about five minutes later, I go back to the bathroom, wash my face, and remind myself who I am and how I’m going to choose to remember my little boy. I remind myself of the joy that will unfold when the big kids come for dinner tonight and that my life is not over. There will be more parties and delights in my life. There will be more hard times, too. Life is a constantly spinning funnel, picking up all kinds of experiences along the way. Life is a beautiful gift and tomorrow, on January 12th, I will remember my little boy and yet will not let it wreck me. I refuse to be stuck. I will not stay angry. I will only choose to love more.