Some dates still wreck me. I’ve tried to convince myself
that they’re nothing more than another day on a calendar page. But it doesn't work.
Seventeen years ago I was given a new name, a treasured title. Mom. I tenderly cradled
my newborn daughter, Jenna, in my arms. And, August 13th became my new favorite calendar date.
Jenna on her 13th birthday |
I'd thought it would forever be a day of cake baking, candle blowing, and gift unwrapping. A day of rejoicing. A day of celebration.
Instead, on Monday I opened an e-mail and read a friend's thoughtful words: "You are in my fervent and constant prayers this week. I know it is bittersweet."
Instead, on Monday I opened an e-mail and read a friend's thoughtful words: "You are in my fervent and constant prayers this week. I know it is bittersweet."
I answered simply, my reply sincere.
“Thank you, Chris, for remembering and praying. Each birthday
gets a tiny bit easier, but this is still the second hardest week of my year. I
really wanted to see Jenna turn seventeen.”
As I finished typing the final line, something I’d heard
about but hadn’t yet experienced happened. An instantaneous
release of tears--a grief burst--came without warning. Then it stopped before I knew what had
happened.
I’m not sure why typing that sentence triggered me. Probably
because I long to see how Jenna would have blossomed—the beautiful young woman
she surely would have become.
But it’s also because birthdays were a big deal to Jenna. My
husband and I couldn’t afford polished, prepackaged party events, but Jenna
didn’t care. With personal flair, she concocted her own.
Her ideas would start to simmer ten months before she turned
a new number. Sometimes sooner. Sometimes immediately after her current
celebration.
In my home yesterday, several of Jenna’s friends came and played
Apples to Apples and Mafia, Four on a Couch and Taboo. Just like Jenna used to
do.
As they engaged in friendly competition, I was surprised to find
what I feared I'd lost—a backup dvd of Jenna’s funeral—after the original copy refused to work. For the first time since my daughter's death, I
viewed part of the service.