We all know the dreaded dates. The anniversary of their death, birthdays, togetherness anniversaries, holidays but there’s one more on my list that adds another dark mark on my year - His diagnosis date.

Today is Sarah’s birthday.  Not Megan’s, not Drew’s. It’s not Mother or Father’s day, or an anniversary.  It’s a day where the focus is squarely on her, and not shared with those who are no longer here.  Or, at least it’s not supposed to be.  

The rub of it is that I’m a widower.  Sarah’s a widow. Damn near every experience we have brings thoughts of Megan and/ or Drew in some way.  It could be a significant, life-changing experience like becoming engaged, or some minor thing that I do on a random Tuesday that reminds Sarah of something similar that Drew did.  Sarah even mentioning wanting to change the color of a wall for the 400th time always reminds me of Megan doing the same thing.

So, in a roundabout way, I tend to think of Megan quite a bit on Sarah’s birthday, and I’m sure she thinks of Drew on mine.  They are both just as much a part of us as they were in life, albeit not actively participating and interacting, for obvious reasons. 

It’s exactly the way it should be.

I wish I could have sat down to write this morning and repeated my often-stated sentiment that I don’t have anything to write about...and that’s OK.  I had hoped that today, of all days, is something that doesn’t affect me as much any more, because “time” and all. Even if I thought about Megan more today, it wouldn’t throw my day off or caused any heightened sense of grief. 

But it isn’t true.  Today would have been Megan and I’s 14th anniversary.  I mean, it still IS our anniversary, but we’re not exactly getting a nice dinner and flowers.  Nope...she gets to sit in a box in our dining room, and I get to go to work, with the rest of the world unaware that this day is any different than the rest.

Another year, another birthday.  Megan would be 38 tomorrow. Each time July 24 rolls around, it’s a slightly different experience for me.  Sometimes, the build-up to that day is the difficult part. Other times, it has been acknowledged as “it is what it is” and the day passes without much fanfare.

This year, it’s a mixture of both.

While it is never swept under the rug, the theme that past few weeks has been a ridiculous amount of distraction.  My work has been beyond what I would normally call “busy”. We’ve just returned from our trip to Texas. There has been some car trouble, and a lot of work around the house.  More often than not, I’m just plain tired.

That doesn’t leave a lot of room to remember that Megan’s birthday falls in July.  But I do anyway. I remember it at night, when I’m falling to sleep. I remember it on weekday mornings, when I’m up and preparing for work, but the rest of the house is quiet.  My commute is yet another instance where I get a few free minutes to think, and in comes Megan.

The Fourth of July - All things summer right? It’s cookouts, pool, family, sunscreen and fireworks. All the freedoms you get living in the good ole USA. It’s funny how the word freedom is used. By definition, freedom means you are not enslaved or forced to act or be a certain way. You are not trapped. Of course, for the USA freedom means all of those things to show our independence. Interesting, that word freedom, because it is purely based on one’s perception of the situation.

Hey man,

Well, it’s that time of year again.  I’m here in Texas, with Sarah and Shelby, to celebrate you.  This is what, year...five for me? That seems crazy. We went to your grave today, and it’s I guess looking good as ever.  The little heart shaped rocks, the trinkets...the helicopters; they’re all still there. Your mom had some pretty nice flowers set up too.  Lilies, I think. I dunno. I’m pretty sure you don’t care all that much, considering that it’s been 7 years, and your loved ones are still making it a point to come by and “tidy up”.  

Anyway, you should have seen it tonight.  Your parents are totally loving having Shelby around.  Playing ping-pong with her, your mother showing Shelby around her business, rendering Peanut both in awe of all of the scientific equipment, and speechless, your dad and I telling “dad jokes” to her, and even letting her drive the farm vehicles around.  It’s almost like Shelby is their granddaughter.

     Seems like being a widower means adjusting my view of the world to an existence of being damaged, marred and/or scarred for the rest of my life.  Life is now about managing the constant reminders of love lost.  Maybe, just like my poor eyesight, my grief is becoming a deficit that I will have to carry forward as I am constantly reminded of the song, Motherless Children by Blind Willie Johnson and covered by Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan and many others.

Mother’s Day. My relationship to this day has been a complicated one for most of my life. Until more recently actually, I did not celebrate this day at all. Since my mom died when I was nine, this day has really been nothing but painful for most of my years. So much so that I just decided to forget all about it in my twenties and avoid going out in public completely until it was over. Beause for me, it wasn't Mother's Day, it was Grief Day. One of many Grief Day holidays throughout the year. 

It’s safe to say I’ve always had an understandable disdain for this and any other holiday that calls attention to what is missing for me. Nothing quite as horrific as being the kid at school who doesn’t have a mom to make a card for or invite to a special Mother’s Day event.

My relationship to this day has changed a lot in the past ten years... I met Drew, and in the years we spent together as well as the years after he died, I’ve continued to get closer to his mom. Suddenly, after he died, we found ourselves in a unique place. A mother without her child, and a child without her mother. Suddenly, we found solace in each other, and an understanding of our different but equally deep losses. To this day, even halfway across the country, we remain close and a part of each other. She gave me a reason to appreciate this holiday in a way I hadn’t been able to before. She was the first person to help me see that this day isn’t only hard for me...

January is when Megan was first diagnosed with chronic organ transplant rejection.  February is Shelby’s birthday. May is Mother’s Day, June is when she was admitted to the hospital, never to come home again, July is her birthday, August is our anniversary, September is when the next year of school starts for Shelby, October is my birthday, November is when she died, and December, is well, the “holidays”.

March and April though have no special “milestones”.  I can’t really think of any specific memories or significant happenings that have or will occur as it relates to Megan and her death.  I get to “coast” through these months, in a sense, fairly comfortable with believing that I shouldn’t have any “predetermined” triggers.

As the first anniversary of Tin’s passing ebbs closer, I find myself at the gate to the last season of the firsts.