You know, I can never gauge how I’m going to feel on August 27th of any given year since 2002. Most of the time, I go through my day in a routine way, stop at the cemetery to leave flowers and murmured messages of love, and meet my little family at The Cheesecake Factory for dinner. We go there because Tonya loved the angel hair pasta and the bar’s lemon drop. We go there because of it’s familiarity; its become our little ritual. We go there because it feels wrong to not celebrate her, to let her birthday drift downriver because she is not here. So why can’t I go there tonight?
I’m stuck. It happens to all who have lost a child, or maybe any close loved one. I want to be home tonight, and I want Tonya to be home with me. No mingling with The Cheesecake crowd tonight.
Maybe I’ll make my own angel hair, my own lemon drop.
- Go to the market for pasta, tomatoes, vodka and lemons.
- Plan dinner for family who loves Tonya.
- Go to cemetery and thank Tonya for helping me figure out how to celebrate her with more joy and less sorrow.
Funny how that worked out–right here in blog space. Ain’t life sorta grand sometimes?