happy birthday heartache..

The dates are backing up. I’m in a ruck, a cluster clump of hurt.

I’ve been strong all day. Kept the quiver from my voice, the water at the edge of my eye. I did my job, smiled in the right places, meant it at least half the time.

When people are brave best not believe it. I wanted a place to lay my head, a hug, a hand to squeeze mine.

I have not slumped or sagged or sobbed but I need to stop, sit, be still and keep company with memories.

Now you’re gone celebrations are a little scary. They’re blows I brace for and they keep on lining up.

I know your beginning, your being, should not be undone by the end. The story should not be unsaid. There is no rewind and I would not push it just to skip past that last harsh note, that full stop.

Happy birthday bab.

I have missed many of your birthdays long distance, when the satellite was sleeping, skype kept slipping and the phone office was closed. I have sang badly in crackly calls from a world away, the words mixed up and mauled, lost in interference.

When I couldn’t get through it didn’t really matter, because I knew, you knew I would’ve tried. You knew you would not, could not be forgotten.

And of course there was a time before, when you were and I was not. My thoughts can’t stretch that far or fathom my lack of place, but that space doesn’t make the love that came to be ‘us’, ours, any less real.

Perhaps today is not so different.

There were years of one more year to be counted, home made cards, half baked cakes, badly rhyming poems, and poorly picked presents.

Then there came a point when gifts became burdens, awkward additions to a life you were leaving, emptying out; the point when even the framed photo smiles looked a bit too fixed, a bit frozen.

After squabbles, quarrels and your  brave bloody-minded refusal to pretend you were not near the end, I didn’t buy you anything last year. Ever practical, you told me to get you what I needed, what I wanted passed down.

I didn’t. All I needed was another way, another day to say I love you. That love was still love without the gift bag and bow. All that was needed was given.

Today there will be no candles, no cake. I’m sad but I’ll still celebrate you.

There is a message, a meaning that stands when the surface sloughs off and the skin peels away. Time does not touch this.

Give when it matters, sing when it sounds right, speak what must be said, love still stays when all else stops.

Unable are the Loved to die
For Love is Immortality

Emily Dickinson

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19 Responses to happy birthday heartache..

  1. speccy says:

    You write so beautifully, and with such a punch, I’m sometimes too awed to comment. Today I’m overcoming awe to deliver a hug. 🙂

    • Oh Speccy, thank you for the hug and making me laugh – the idea my sad little posts could be prompting awe made me giggle aloud in the midst of my boo hooing! Thank you for reading and do comment whenever you think to – I always love reading them.

  2. Hope says:

    So beautifully written. I really enjoyed reading this. Thank you for sharing.

  3. Casey B says:

    Thanks for sharing this beautiful post.

    ‘I know your beginning, your being, should not be undone by the end. The story should not be unsaid. There is no rewind and I would not push it just to skip past that last harsh note, that full stop.’

    I know that feeling so well, even if only through my friends’ passing. Thanks for the kindness you showed in liking my ‘Car conversations’ blog post.


  4. Alana says:

    You’ve been on my mind and in my heart of late and it was a sweet surprise to see your name this morning. Sending you love and holding your hand from afar. Cry, sweet one, cry.

  5. What sorrow my dear, what sorrow… I’ve sent you a few today, but here are a few more hugs – I know you need heaps! xxx

  6. I really enjoy your blog, I have added you to my blogroll, if that is OK?

  7. Then there came a point when gifts became burdens, awkward additions to a life you were leaving, emptying out; the point when even the framed photo smiles looked a bit too fixed, a bit frozen.

    –I got a lump in my throat as I read this piece.
    You’ve expressed pain so beautifully.

  8. oh my. you write so beautifully and so effortlessly about the “cluster clump of hurt.” !!! You are laying bare your pain and I am grateful for that. thank you. I am so sorry you have to go through this and I know too well the pain of each and every holiday, birthday, anniversary. “They” say it gets better; I have not seen that. I think I have just grown used to accepting that the pain, the deep bone pain, will be there and all I can do is try and make it through the day.

    I am deeply touched by your writing and your honesty. Thank you and Peace, Jen

  9. Karishma says:

    Your touching words are painfully honest. I cannot express how deeply I admire your ability to write the way you do about the things you write about, about exactly how you feel, without holding back. Beautiful piece, this one too. A lesson I hope to hold on to forever was found in “I’m sad but I’ll still celebrate you.”

  10. I just wanted to say a big thank you. It was lovely to come back from a few days in hiding to find such wonderful comments waiting for me and it really means a lot to me that what I write resonates with what others experience – that somehow helps it all make a little more sense.

  11. I am speechless to conjure a comment for such a gripping intimate narrative. It is so beautiful…so heartwrenching. I feel it in my soul. Thank you for sharing this. It is really quite amazing

    • Dear Vampireweather (what a wonderful name!), thank you for visiting my blog and reading. What I wrote was certainly from the heart so I am glad that came across. All to often words seems weak little things to really speak of love.

  12. Felipe Neumann says:

    I love how you expose your feelings and how raw your words are. This is so beautiful, Laura. Every time I visit your blog I’m as eager as the last time for your words.

  13. Judith says:

    November 1 was my late husband’s birthday so I said happy birthday darling even though he has been dead now for 13 years. The heartache continues but time dulls the ache somewhat. I coined a phrase to share with the people who participated in my Writing Memories sessions – “To live in lives we leave behind is not to die”. I honestly believe this.
    Thank you for reading and liking my blog.

  14. Lissa Rabon says:

    Amazingly expressed…well done!

  15. nire says:

    this was a beautiful tribute. a “first” birthday celebrated and survived. ::hugs:: [though i know i am a bit late to the game].

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