There are some aches that never go away. There is no medicine. There is no treatment. You simply walk around with a hole in your heart that is always there. Some days are better than others. You can actually go weeks or months without remembering that it’s there, and then suddenly something triggers it.
It could be a smell, sight or even a memory that brings it to the surface, and you realize you’re not a whole person anymore. March 15 will forever be one of the happiest and saddest days of my life. My first son was born on this day, and on April 24, he died.
I saw my son’s face for the first time on this day. He grabbed my finger for the first time on this day. I heard him cry for the first time on this day. I still remember every inch of him. I remember the throng of doctors around my wife when Aiden was delivered. The antiseptic smell of the neonatal intensive care unit and even the pictures that were on the wall.
People try and comfort you and tell you things to make you feel better. “He’s in a better place.” “His suffering is over.” “It was God’s will.” The years go by and you have children and they make you happy. They make you feel whole again.
Then this time of year comes around, and the memories come flooding back. You try to be strong and stoic and tell yourself that it isn’t going to get to you this year. You are going to celebrate his short life instead of mourn it.
But I don’t feel like celebrating today. Instead of waking me up on his birthday anxious to start his special day, Aiden is gone. I woke up early today on my own, and the house was silent.
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