Every year for Oliver’s birthday we go out of town together.
The first couple years were self preservation. I couldn’t emotionally stand to be in Sacramento and relive all the “lasts” of that terrible April in 2012. It’s enough to relive it in my mind, the actual physical landmarks surrounding me may have sent me over the edge.
But as the years progress, my reasoning for the trip has altered somewhat. And it wasn’t until I was faced with the possibility of not being able to get away this year that I really understood why. I’m not unreasonable; I knew (or at least assumed) that eventually life would get in the way and it wouldn’t always be feasible for us to drop everything and get outta town. I told myself that we’d handle it whenever that moment arose. I should have been prepared when we realized months ago that Daniel’s new full time school schedule would likely jeopardize our trip. As it turns out, I was not prepared at all. (Cue my brief meltdown months ago when Daniel casually mentioned his school schedule included finals in mid-April.)
The idea that we wouldn’t get to take our trip seemed unthinkable. But not because I can’t handle being in Sacramento come April 11th, because I’m fairly certain I could. If there’s anything I’ve learned in the past six years it’s that grief doesn’t wait for anniversaries and birthdays to arrive. I’m faced with Oliver memories daily. As I drive past the funeral home, or walk around the same park I did while I was having contractions, or meet someone new who has no idea who Oliver is to me. I handle all those head on, with a deep breath and as much honesty as I can muster. Time has done its job and things are certainly different (not better of course, but different) as the years pass, but the potential for no birthday trip felt unthinkable because of what this trip has come to mean to me.
Yes, this trip will always serve as time to honor and celebrate Oliver, all the while wishing he was still here with us. But now I see it more as an important celebration of what Oliver taught us, what he means to us on a daily basis, which is this:
there is no other time more important than now, and no other people more important that us.
(Or as Jonathan Larson more succinctly writes: “There’s only us, there’s only this.”)
So every year, for as long as our lives allow, we will make the time for a trip. It might be short, we might not get to go very far, maybe it won’t even get to be on 11th of April but a trip there will be.
Every time we get out of town we are telling ourselves (and the people around us) that we haven’t forgotten Oliver, and we haven’t forgotten the painful truth we found in losing him, that this could all be over in an instant. So we will always find a way to drop everything and celebrate us. We will celebrate Oliver and our family, spending time the only way that matters: together.
