Saturday, March 28, 2015

Happy Birthday, baby.

What do you say or do on the day that would have been your 33rd birthday? 33. You never even made it to see 33. The thought of it is almost too heavy to really and truly comprehend. I try to remember last year. What did we do for your birthday? I don't even remember. These are the things I wish I could recall. The little things. Which really are the big things when you think about it. I remember stupid things like song lyrics. But I can't remember what we did for your birthday when you turned 32 - not knowing it would be your last one with us. That you'd never get to live past the age of 32. I could probably find photos around that time and piece it together. if I try. But I think as with many things these days everything just kind of muddles together. The memories from before your death are sometimes hard to recall. I don't like it.
So the question remains... what do we do on your birthday? We celebrate is what we do. On your actual birthday, January 14 - we got together with your family for dinner and sang happy birthday with an ice cream cake you would have loved. The kids blew out the candles for you. I took photos of it. I wanted to remember this one. And two of the photos had something very weird happen in them.
 Megan was taking photos at the same time so I thought maybe the flash from her camera did something. But these are very clear distinct lines in the photos.
I'm a skeptic with things like this. But it's hard to explain it. My phone had never done this before. And it hasn't done it since. So I doubt it is a camera malfunction.
The weekend after we all celebrated at the East Side German Restaurant which is where I planned on taking you for your birthday this year (at least I remember what I PLANNED for your next birthday right?!?). It was bittersweet. And I won $5 on a scratch ticket - on the number 17 no less. 17 was your hockey number. And it was the 17th of January I won it. So many coincidences....  it's hard to ignore them.
Look at those two faces. They miss you, Mike. Their lives have been completely and totally devastated with your loss. And I can't fix it or make it better. This is the life they now have. And as a parent I want to be able to change it for them. But I cannot. They talk about you, they ask for you, they want to remember you. And most of all they want you back. We all just want you back.

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