Birthday Abyss

March 18th

 

I have become familiar with the concept of grief triggers, those events, memories, objects, or sensory experiences which initiate an intensification of the grieving process. What I didn’t expect was that my own birthday would trigger the episode of most profound despair over the loss of K.B. since the period right after her death.

I still don’t know why this was so. K.B. and I had not had a particular way of marking each others’ birthdays. I would not have expected to have seen her on my birthday, which B. and I have celebrated since we got married by doing things like going out for dinner or seeing a play.

But my upcoming birthday seemed to trigger a flashback to the first birthday I celebrated after B. and I started seeing one another five years ago. Perhaps this is because this year B. was organizing a party of 20+ friends and family members to play laser tag with us, the biggest such gathering for my birthday since that one in 2009.

What was the connection with K.B.? In 2009, she made the cake for that party (chocolate with lemon filling and cream cheese frosting, all my favourite tastes). She and I also exchanged lengthy e-mails afterwards, analyzing how the party had gone and discussing B.’s gifts to me. It was quite early in the relationship, and I needed her perspective on these things!

This year, I couldn’t get that party of five years ago and K.B.’s presence at it out of my mind. Why didn’t I have photos of that night? Who might? Who was taking pictures? Might they be able to find ones with K.B., or her cake, in them? I know I have some pictures on my old cell phone of the cake she made the next month, for the party on Brian’s birthday. Why didn’t I take any of the one she made for me?

Again, guilt at my negligence began to seep into my skull. The awareness, too, that this year there would be a party for me which she would not be able to attend was unsettling. Chris would be there; her son would be there; her sister- and brother-in-law would be there. She would not be.

I began to feel despair tightening its grip on me. The day before my birthday I spent a lot of time reading her blog; I miss her writing voice (and her actual voice) so very much. I also made a cake but experienced some challenges with the recipe, and of course that brought back thoughts of the many times before I had phoned her for advice in the same kind of circumstance.

I slept poorly the night before my birthday; insomnia has been dogging me of late. On the morning of my birthday B. brought me his gift, the Hyperbole and a Half book. I was so pleased by it, as we have laughed over that blog so many times. The morning went downhill from there, though. The feeling of wretchedness dragged me down even further to the point that I spent most of the morning crying.

Even as I walked to a nearby restaurant to meet my friend Y. for lunch the tears were pouring down my face. By some act of will I was able to climb back up to a state of relative composure by the time Y. arrived. I didn’t bring up how I was feeling out of fear that I would break down utterly in public, and the conversation was sufficiently engaging that I was distracted from my state of sorrow for an hour or so.

But once I left the restaurant I started sinking back down into despair again. The tears returned. I haven’t cried so much since the dark days between K.B.’s death and her funeral. My yearning for her to be with me, my sense of desolation, and my fear that I will never recover from this loss coloured the day for me.

I was able, again, to force myself to get into “social mode” and participate in the laser tag games in the evening. I was even able to enjoy it when it was going on. I won the second game—but my first impulse was to call her to say, “Hey! You’ll never believe it! I beat your video game-playing son!” Oh…right.

The socializing afterward kept me busy as I circulated and chatted with everyone. I was so grateful that members of her family were there with mine and with our mutual friends. Once I got home, however, even though I was able to appreciate the fact that all these wonderful people had been there to offer me their good wishes, I still could not accept that there was one person who should have been there—who would have loved to have played laser tag with us—who was absent. It was too much to bear. Another night with very little sleep.

The sense of desolation was particularly intense for the next couple of days. Anxiety over my cat’s health worsened, sleep was elusive, and I began to worry that I was slipping over the precipice from grief into a more worrisome state. I read Wynn Anne’s blog post on the difference between grief and depression. However, I was unsure which category I fit into: I definitely was not wallowing in self-hatred or thinking about harming myself, but feelings of despair and hopelessness? Check and check.

However, on Monday morning, I woke up and something just seemed different, just imperceptibly a little bit…better. It was not that I had suddenly “gotten over” my grief. It was just that the ability to feel emotions other than extreme sorrow returned and the tears became less frequent. I felt less like I had fallen over the cliff into depression and more like I had landed on a ledge on the way down and had been able to scramble back up and over the edge of the cliff. And for now, that is enough.