It is difficult to imagine that I am here again. Murdock’s birthday. My fourth without him. This day will always be his; I will always celebrate him. But with the passage of time, my boy feels so very far away, and that is impossibly painful to admit.

I heard someone say that no matter how long we walk the journey of grief, the path will never lead us back to where we were before our loved one left. All I want is to go back to that place. That time when it was Murdock and me. When his exasperated sighs, or his bouncing ears on our walks, or the way he ate corn on the cob, filled my days with joy. When I could look at him and see my heart in the unlikely form of a stoic black lab. Maybe most of all, when I was the very best version of me. It is the place I want to return to most. And the place I will never return to again.

When we experience a profound loss, we know it will never be the same. Life pushes us down the path through grief when all we really want to do is turn around and go back. I have spun in circles. I have taken unplanned turns. I have dragged my feet and I have sprinted, all to try to find my way back. But I know that I won’t succeed. After the immediate pain of loss, the true heartbreak is getting further and further away from where you would give anything to be.

As I have written before, I celebrate Murdock’s birthday now much the same way as we did when he was here. I go to his favorite river, I have ice cream, and I sing to him. (I skip the steak.) I think that is the blessing of his birthday. It is the one day each year I can do exactly what we always did together on that day. I can bring what feels like such distant past into the present.  I can find my way back to that path we walked together for so long, instead of circling and stumbling on this new one, if even for one day.

And most importantly, I can celebrate my boy. My best friend. My soulmate. My greatest blessing. 

Happy Birthday, Murdock.