Another birthday for my boy. It’s the third one I will celebrate without the guest of honor. Sometimes it’s hard to believe August 11 is here again. But more often, it feels like we celebrated that last birthday together in a different lifetime. I suppose it was.
The days leading up to today have been especially, and surprisingly, difficult. You would think that by the third year, that would not be the case, that I would be prepared for the calendar to turn to August. But as I have learned, applying “you would think” to the grief experience just doesn’t work. Why have these weeks been so challenging? I believe my heart has come to the realization, maybe only recently, that I am settled into my post-Murdock life. The pain is a deep ache that I am used to now; the weight of the grief I carry is something I manage; the emptiness is my regular companion. This is what it is, what it will be. The strangeness of my life in the days and weeks right after Murdock’s departure is now the familiar. And that brings a different kind of sadness. I don’t want to be used to a life without my best friend.
The move from experience to memory is also a difficult one. During his life, I celebrated Murdock’s birthday as big as it could be – much more so than my own. There was singing and swimming and steak and ice cream and presents. His birthday was another opportunity for me to double down on my constant mission to make my stoic boy show the exuberance his breed is known for (I was not successful). Celebrating the birthday of my soulmate was one of my favorite days of the year. But now, those times are forever memories, and the smiles they bring are because I am transported to the past, not living my present.
As I have written before, I still celebrate his day by doing the same things we did when he was here. I sing; I visit the river where I took him on his last birthday; I have ice cream. Repeating our traditions not only honors a furry boy most deserving of celebration, but, transports me back to that time. That time when I did not feel the ache of loss, carry the weight of grief, or walk with emptiness as my companion. A time when I was most concerned with making sure Murdock’s special day was more than he could wish for and everything that he deserved.
And so, even when it is difficult, I will continue to honor Murdock. This year, I will repeat our traditions not just as a way to remember, but as a chance to bring the joy of the past into my present, if even for a day. For Murdock’s 15 years, his birthday was a day to honor the most special boy who became my soulmate, and to celebrate our great fortune in being chosen to walk through life together. That is no less true now than it was then.
Happy Birthday, Murdock.
