The birthday party is set.  Balloons have been ordered, gifts wrapped, invites confirmed and menu organized.  We are ready to celebrate Zane’s birthday.  The only thing missing is him. This is his 32nd birthday and his 5th we have celebrated with him present only in spirit.

This birthday is an annual tradition, requested by his friends at the time of his death.  They did not wish to acknowledge the day he was killed but would not miss celebrating the day he was born. And thus, each year, our family has arranged a party, complete with games, food, gifts & always a shot of Jameson.

I was having lunch with a mother who lost her son six years ago and I asked her what they did to celebrate his birthday.  I am always looking for ideas. She said, “Nothing. We don’t.” I wasn’t sure how to respond. What do you mean you don’t? “It’s just too painful”, she said. That hit me hard.

Each year our family plans how to celebrate Zane and it is painful. We laugh and cry while we brainstorm and at the end of the day, we all crash in our own way.  It is why each of us still takes the day after off work. We know we will be a mess. But before that day, we put on our mask and we gather the group and we toast to the soul who has impacted our lives, then, and now. I never thought there was an option.

I’m not saying either way is the right way.  Grief is an individual journey. But there was a tiny part of me that thought, what would it be like to not face our pain, to choose to do nothing. Friends have told me that how our family handles death is unique.  They have expressed that they can only imagine if it was them, they would be hidden away.  They would not be bringing in the masses and turning up the music.

Our family knows of no other way. Perhaps it is because we have some Irish blood in us. Perhaps it is because we have experienced more losses than others and earlier than others. Perhaps it has become a way of surviving. For us. I had never questioned why we approach death the way we do, until recently.

What I will say is that we are told by Zane’s friends that opening our home and inviting them in to share stories, to laugh, to cry, to remember, is what grounds them. We are a safe place for each of them to bring their grief and dance with it.

For me, I feel my son when I am in the presence of his friends. I learn about times he shared that I heard of but didn’t know the details. I feel his energy through their hugs. Their personalities bring my son’s attitude to life, and I can hear him with them. His essence is alive in the air.

And I think those are good enough reasons to pour a drink and turn the bubble machine on.

Happy Birthday Pooh-Bear. You are missed, loved & celebrated.