Birthdays

Two years ago I was carrying Bridget in utero. We went to the grand opening of the IKEA store and browsed. We stopped in the eatery and had some meatballs after standing in line for the longest time. We'd been warned that grand openings were big for IKEA. We left the store without buying anything for ourselves. But we stood at the checkouts to buy a gift card to give my friend for her birthday. We signed up for a catalog (as they had already run out) and were on our way.

I stopped by at my friend's house to give her the gift card. A big banner was on her house. Isaac was going to be a big brother -- twice. Two babies and two birthdays. Born only twelve hours apart, but that's another story. My friend wasn't able to carry children in utero, and so she had been blessed with two new children through the miracle of adoption.

Adoption isn't always a guarantee. My friend had already learned that the hard way. She was supposed to have a little girl, but then the birth mom changed her mind. She lost a baby in a way. A different way. I remember hoping that these two little ones would stay. I sat in her home with her, excited that Bridget was going to have these playmates. Wondering if I shouldn't get too attached to the idea, because what if the adoption wasn't able to be finalized.

Only a couple of months later, there I was in IKEA again, only the second time we'd been there. We left the store without buying anything. We left there, Bridget in the care of the paramedics, and I wasn't sure any of it was even real. I had carried Bridget in, but I couldn't carry her out. I kissed her before they took her in the helicopter. They told me I could say goodbye, but I remembered thinking that it wasn't going to be goodbye. I would see her in a little while, and everything was going to be okay. IT'S GOING TO BE OKAY!

It isn't okay. IT ISN'T OKAY!

Back and forth and back and forth and circling in my mind to try to sense if it was real or not real or what to make of it all.

Today is my friend's birthday. After Bridget died, her oldest son was having his birthday and invited my daughter to his party. I drove her there and felt so sad. So so sad. It was so hard. And my friend had other friends who still had babies and they were there feeding them and my Bridget wasn't there. I was so sad. And her two babies were there and my Bridget wasn't there. I was so so sad. At one point, my friend was trying to serve cake and manage a group of small children, and one of her babies was upset. Another mom was holding him, but for some reason -- and I really don't know why -- she gave him to me. It was the first time I held a baby since Bridget had died. And I was horrified. Terrified. I was just so overcome with sheer fright and it was like I was in IKEA again and I didn't know what to do because I wasn't sure if he was going to stop breathing and I panicked. I don't know how long it was, but someone else sensed I was uncomfortable (politely). And she took him out of my arms, and I was so glad. I didn't want to hold another baby again.

Tomorrow is my son's birthday. Last week, another son's birthday. Our family celebrates its birthday in the first week of May. All these come so quickly after Dominic's birthday. And this year, we are planning a first birthday party. Only two weeks from now. I wasn't ready to hold another baby again. But after the birthday party ordeal, my own infant was only the second time I'd held a baby in my arms since Bridget died. I haven't held any other babies, and I really don't want to.

When Bridget was dying, I talked with her about how I had already been planning her first birthday party. It was going to be a big event. I told everyone to put it on their calendars. I was taking so many pictures of her. When she was dying, I promised her I would still have that birthday party. And I broke my promise to her. Her little sister was born prematurely and was having episodes just like Bridget had had. I was horrified. Terrified. I was just so overcome with sheer fright and it was so much like being in IKEA again and I didn't know what to do because I wasn't sure if she was going to stop breathing and I panicked. I was just trying to hold on the best that I could, and I didn't have the capacity to have a birthday party for Bridget. We managed to get cupcakes from Costco and eat them on our back steps and take balloons to her at the cemetery. And even though my mom was here from out of town, she didn't come here or go there to the cemetery. And I wondered if Bridget was angry at me, and she knew I was that kind of mother to not even celebrate her first birthday, and that's why she left in the first place.

I've been thinking so much about how in only a month and a half, Bridget should be turning two years old. And today, when I was thinking of my friend's birthday. And this month as I've been putting together the slideshow for our youngest's first birthday in a couple of weeks. And all these birthdays in between. I have been thinking so much of Bridget and how much I miss her and how I wish she were here to play with those friends she was supposed to grow up with.

I walked some balloons and a small gift over to my friend tonight. As I got closer to her home, a few tears fell down my cheek. I didn't want to go there. She still has her two little ones. I don't have my Bridget. Did going to IKEA that first time while I was pregnant with Bridget make her stop breathing the next time we went there? I had bought that gift card for her then, and then ... I need to keep walking. I need to keep going. I am so happy for her special day. Happy she still has her little ones. It's all so irrational... So many things going through my mind. And as I walked, I was carrying my infant in my arms. And it seemed so abstract. Too strange.

I got back home, and sat down on the lawn. I was taking pictures of my little girl when another neighbor walked by. Allyson, her husband, and her little Brigham. And I had that feeling again, the one I wrote about before:

I sometimes find your friendship difficult now. We were supposed to both have our children grow up together. You still have your Brigham, and I don't have my Bridget. Perhaps it sounds so cruel to think that it is hard for me to see him sometimes. It would be harder, though, for me if you didn't have him in your life. So it is bittersweet. I love that he is still growing and learning and in your life, but I just miss that we aren't sharing that experience anymore.

And it was so hard for me, and yet I was so glad to see him. And as he walked over to me, he was holding up two fingers. Turning two in a couple of weeks... and Bridget. Bridget died. When she was still thinking of names for him, she mentioned the name Brigham. A part of me wished she wouldn't name him that. It sounded so much like Bridget to me. Spelled so much like it. I didn't want their names to be so similar. It was kind of an irrational thought, I guess. Just wanted to keep her name more of her name. And sometimes now that part makes it harder to see him. Say his name. It reminds me that much more of Bridget.

Today is Trevin's birthday. He was born 16 years ago. I never had the chance to meet him. He died when he was 18 months old. I met his mom just before Dominic stopped breathing. I knew of her, but hadn't really gotten to know her. When he was in the hospital dying, and we had to ask all those questions but didn't want to ask them -- questions about funerals and burials-- she told me that she had buried her oldest son. And immediately I was able to ask. There was a connection in that experience that was instant. Over the years I've gotten to know her better. She was one of the friends who came to the hospital with our children when those in my own congregation would not. And she came to the hospital last August when we were there with our youngest, wondering if she was going to succumb to the same yet-to-be-discovered underlying condition that had taken Dominic and Bridget. She came with cheesecake and with two men who had the power to give priesthood blessings when no one from my own congregation would.

I am truly so grateful for all of the birthdays. They are the mark of entry into our family. Even our big world family. And yet, though there is a time to be born, there is also a time to die. And it is that part that is so heavy. When their time to die robs them of even being here to celebrate a single birthday with us. And as I prepare for our family's next "first birthday" celebration, I am so very grateful to be at the point that we will be able to share this occassion with her. And yet, I think back to the last time we were supposed to have a first birthday. And my broken promise. And my broken heart.