She would have turned 21 a few days ago. December 7. She should have turned 21. Instead, she never even saw 20. I hadn't really done this so far, but I allowed myself to imagine what the day would have looked like if she had still been here. In our family, we like special meals all day long on birthdays. Since it was on a Tuesday, we would have tried to do brunch with whomever was home and available at the time. And I would have planned a special dinner and whatever dessert she requested. We are not strictly a cake and ice cream family. The birthday celebrant gets to choose two - that's right, TWO - desserts for the special day to replace the usual cake and ice cream combo. That is if they prefer something else.
I'm sure I would have planned to take her to a bar for her first shot as an official adult. I envisioned her taking an hour or more to put on her makeup, mainly because she was really good at it and she could do a glam look with ease, while I've never really gone beyond the foundation (necessary for my 50+ year-old skin that still breaks out in acne), powder, some mascara and lipstick. Always lipstick.
I didn't get to take my oldest daughter out for shots on her 21st birthday. It was March 23, 2020, just a few days after the official COVID19 lockdown began. No one was going anywhere for fear of catching the deadly virus that most people didn't know much about yet.
Anyway, Joy would have taken a long time to do her makeup and find the perfect thing to wear. To be honest, she might not have wanted me to take her out that night. Your 21st birthday is usually something you celebrate with your friends, not necessarily your mom. But Joy didn't do things the way everyone else did, so who knows? I can imagine her little squeals of excitement as her friends texted her Happy Birthday, or maybe arrived for the celebration. The house would have gotten loud with friends and family.
Instead, Al and I are relaxing at a cabin on Lake Huron to celebrate our 25th anniversary. We never would have planned to be away for one of the kids' birthdays, but obviously, it doesn't matter as much for this one. The kids had some of her friends over for pizza and drinks, and Al and I celebrated with cake and ice cream here in our cozy anniversary nest. But I do intend to take some of her friends out for shots when we return home. They always seem to be up for celebrating or remembering Joy in some way.
Grief if such a strange thing. I am constantly sad, every moment of every day, knowing my daughter is dead. But I'm not sobbing and crying every moment of every day. In fact, those terrible days are becoming a little less frequent, the days when my heart feels like it's hanging out of my chest, days when I can barely breathe, days when I can't quite comprehend that she's gone forever. Those are the days when I sneak away to my room and sob for as long as I need to, as loudly as I need to. The kids poke their heads in and ask if I'm okay. My son always comes to rub my back until I'm done crying.
I miss her. I know she's safe with Jesus. I can't imagine life without her. I'm grateful that she's free from addiction and mental illness. It makes me a little crazy to have all of these different thoughts and emotional states, sometimes all at the same time. I suspect that's how life will be from now on, until the day I see her again.
On The Good Place, I think Eleanor did a of summing up our experience on earth: "All humans are aware of death so we're all a little sad all of the time. That's just the deal." Even without having lost a child, I was aware that death would some day come. I'm aware that I will likely lose my parents within the next twenty years. It's conceivable that my husband could pass away at a younger-than-normal age due to his neurological history.
Even if Joy had survived, she would have died some day. Our children are supposed to outlive us, but for some reason, Joy didn't.
My goal for all of my children, from the day of their birth, has been to get them to heaven.
And I know now that one is there.
Happy Birthday in heaven, kiddo!
