Today is “Deady’s” birthday. He would have been 39. There are certain days, post loss, that you just know are going to be hard – hard to function, hard to talk, hard to motivate yourself to do anything, hard to even breath. The big days. Anniversaries and the like. And birthday’s too I guess. But I promised myself I was going to be a pillar of strength today. It’s just another day. Ash didn’t care about his birthday anyway. I was (still am) the big birthday celebrator.

But then I reminded Jack that it was in fact Deady’s birthday on our commute to school this morning and he reached over and grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze, then stroked my arm and all thoughts of strength (and possibly sanity) went out the window. I crumbled like a stale chocolate chip cookie that’s been sitting on the counter for 2 weeks longer than it should have been. Kind of like the chocolate chip cookies that are sitting on my counter right now. It was not an ideal time to burst into tears either, as we’re sitting in the elementary school line waiting to drop Colt off. People could clearly see my face. Luckily I wear large sunglasses and who the hell would be paying attention to us anyway? But someone was, because I got a text from a friend that I passed, and maybe it was coincidence, or maybe she saw my face and reached out because she knew I was struggling. Either way, I appreciate you friend. And also, stop making me cry harder. Just kidding. Kind of.

Kudos to my 11 year old boy for being so fucking amazing. So fucking strong. What did I ever do to deserve him? Or Colt? I got a note from Colt’s teacher the other day, which is always cause for alarm. But it wasn’t that kind of note. It was a note telling me how great he is. How he was on the playground pushing a student with special needs on the swing because he wanted to, because he is kind, because he is fucking amazing, too. I may be the unluckiest wife, but I damn sure am the luckiest mama in the entire world.

Life has been hard lately. Harder than normal, I should say. It’s never easy, no matter what circumstances any of us are going through. My dog died. I’m going through some things with loved ones. I’ve built a house. Without my husband. That I should have moved into weeks ago. It’s been done since mid-August. Yet here I sit, in the house we shared together, half packed up, half not packed up, completely a fucking mess. I keep coming up with reasons why I can’t leave. The latest being that I can’t get internet at the new house until the end of the month, at the earliest. Which, my oldest son can’t do his homework without internet access because that’s the world we live in now – no books, no pencils, no paper, just computers. And I’m certain there are ways to solve this problem if I put my mind to it. The thing is, I’m not quite ready to close this chapter. It feels big and hard (that’s what she said?!) and I’m sick of doing big and hard things (that’s not what she said?!). When I leave here, it feels like everything changes. It feels like I am abandoning my life with my husband. Dead husband. So that’s actually not a life. And my rational mind knows that. But feelings aren’t rational. They’re messy and scary and all over the god damned map. But the thought of actually leaving my home and sleeping in this new home makes me feel all sweaty and panicky and heart thumping out of my chest-y. I will get there. In my own time. But it will be in my own time. I will work through it. And I’m sure the change will be mostly good. But I have to get my heart and my head on the same page.

There’s also the fact that I will be leaving behind some fantastic neighbors and friends, some people that welcome us into their home any day, any time. Some people that are always here for us. Some people that we love, that make our lives just a little bit easier and a lot happier. And yes, I realize we will always be in each other’s lives, we will always be the best of friends, but that doesn’t make leaving any easier. It won’t be the same. It can never be the same. And that sucks, also.

I know that it will all be ok. And everything will work out the way it should. And we will be happy. Hell, we are happy, for the most part. We’ve learned a lot since losing our Deady. We’ve learned who we can trust, how to live when we want to do anything but, how to move forward, how to love, how to grow (and not just from eating stale, crumbling chocolate chip cookies – don’t judge me), how to let go of all that we can’t control, how to function with a big part of our heart missing. We’ve learned to live post-loss. We’ve learned to live with constant pain.

But sometimes, we need to take a pause, almost stop living for a minute, and feel all of that pain. To remember what it was like to be so thoroughly loved (and sometimes thoroughly hated). Sometimes it’s hard to believe that any of this is real. I wonder the point to a lot of it. I ask myself why a lot. Why me? But, also, why not me? Loss is part of life. None of us is untouched by pain and loss.

Today, I celebrate Deady (as he shall be forever named in our household because we are fucked up like that). And by celebrate, I mean cry and feel sorry for myself. Just kidding. Mostly. But, as I like to throw out there every now and again, life is for the living. And we are still living. Our show must go on.

So, to my friends, if you see me today, I might be a little quiet, I might seem a little standoffish, I might say highly inappropriate things (even more so than normal), but I could use a hug and a laugh and possibly all the Tito’s.

Happy birthday, Jonesie. We fucking miss you.