Jon’s birthday was a few weeks ago. May 4th actually, and birthdays have always been a big deal around here. Mike made sure of that.
He believed if God took the time to make you and put you here on this ball we call Earth, you mattered. You were valuable, thus birthdays were cause for celebration.
“No one should have to work or go to school on their birthday,” he’d tell me every year, the little scowl line erupting between his eyes over the unfairness of it all. “It’s a holiday. In fact you should have your whole birthday week off!”
Who could disagree with that? Mike would buy a cake, candles, balloons and ask the birthday person in advance, “What would you like for your birthday? Where do you want to go?” Then he’d make it happen. And he loved it.
I went to the store the day before Jon’s birthday. Bought a cake and candles and made sure he had a few gifts to open. I asked him where he would like to go, what he’d like to do, and made a few suggestions.
Before I went to bed that evening I reminded him, “Don’t forget to think about what you want to do tomorrow Jon. It’s your birthday.”
He was standing in the kitchen and turned to look at me. “I don’t care,” he said and my heart broke into a zillion pieces. Again.
I went to bed that night, cried into my pillow and cried out to my Heavenly Dad. “Help us please! We are so wounded. Heal us. Bring us to a place of new joy.”
“Hear me, Lord, and have mercy on me. Help me, O Lord.“ Psalm 30:10
Jon didn’t leave his room on his birthday and we never went out. It was the first time in 38 years he didn’t want to hear the happy birthday song or burn the candles down to the frosting before he blew them out. Several days later that unopened package of candles was tucked away in a drawer, when I finally cut the cake and gave him a piece with his dinner.
Right now, the loss of Jon’s father in his everyday life, turns every special occasion into pain. The events we usually celebrate become mile markers for what is missing. Reminders of what was. This is the nature of grief.
Choking back tears, I gently replied, “It’s OK Jon. I understand. Maybe your next birthday will be better. Maybe next year both of us will care again. Let’s just keep asking Jesus to help us with that.”
Maybe by next year or the one after we will celebrate.
Maybe then we will say, “You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!” Psalm 30:11-12
Please Lord, let it be so.
It is so hard to have your head, in the present, telling you they’re gone while your heart, in the past, still throbs with love & anticipation & history with hopes for the future–now gone. Its like living two lives. I’ve read the scripture, “Remember not the former things neither consider the things of old–behold I will do a new thing.” Lord please help my heart to look forward even though my health is failing me. Help me believe you will complete your work in me without Kimberly, without hair, without my old strength. Please help the memories not hurt so much & help me through the harsh reminders that come up. I stll cry when people ask, “And how is your daughter”? Then after they leave, I’m reliving her death again.
Oh Sue, I know you’ve been through so much and are still walking in a dark place. And you’re correct, these places in life are so uncertain. The past is gone, there’s no bringing it back yet our heart is still there with those we’ve lost. The future feels what? Maybe over with? Yet we know in God it is never over. Even when we leave here there is eternity with Him, whatever we imagine that looks like. I ‘m believing with you, “Behold, I will do a new thing.” Praying it for both of us and for Jon too. Thank you for always keeping in touch, the cards, FB and these encouraging pieces of your heart. Love you girl ❤️