There seems always to be a point in time – a life moment – that dissects one’s existence. When we are younger we compartmentalize our lives into events before high school and events after. After we marry, the marker might move to the wedding and life becomes divided into life events as a single and life as a married. For me, you are that life moment. My life became all that occurred before Angel, and all that has occurred since.
I wonder what you think of me now. In the early years following that moment, I would refuse to work on the day of your anniversary. I would go out to dinner, visit your grave, sing “Happy Birthday”, and cry. This year I will work at least 15 hours that day. As a result, I will not visit you until the following day. But I will still cry. I admit that I have allowed the needs of the living to take precedence over celebration of the dead. Now that you will be nine I expect that you might understand that birthdays are sometimes shifted to meet a family’s schedules. At least I hope you understand that. And forgive me. Again.
Tomorrow is your ninth anniversary. Anniversary. It sounds as if you were married. That truly bothers me. But Birth-day is just wrong. And Death-day is more so. There must be a better word. How about Angel-day? Or Angelversary? That might work.
And, despite the fact that I talk about celebrating your existence, I’m sure it has not escaped your notice that your resting place makes you seem a bit like the poor child with the tattered jacket looking in on the snazzy playground. Forgive me that as well. Again, it is more a case of tending to the needs of the living. Trust me when I tell you that it is no measure of the love I have for you.
Happy Angelversary, darling. You will always be my baby. I love you.