Happy Birthday, My Mickey
Today, February 21, is Ben’s birthday. Yet another hard February day. I found myself resigned to the day rather than dreading how I would feel. I seem to find comfort in planning to spend the day immersed in the memories. I was able to spend a little time with a friend of ours, which was nice. It makes me happy when I know that Ben is remembered.
For the past few years, I have made a point of traveling on a train on what I call “Ben days.” This year the weather has been so precarious that I decided to stay home. I did miss having a little retreat. Last year, while on my little journey, I enjoyed writing, and I even wrote a poem about Ben that reflected on my train journeys. I’m reposting it here.
I began today by watching the video that I made for my Ben’s birthday post on the blog the year after he left the earth. So many happy memories, even though many photos reflect how Ben was changing as his ALS progressed. When I think back to starting this blog I remember how much time I spent creating these videos. I don’t think I realized how important the process was in coping with grief. It hurt to look through all of the photos, but the memories were what I had and they were everything. Also, Ben and I loved to master computer programs and I knew he would be very proud of my products.
Another “Ben day” tradition is to watch Ben’s favorite Disney films. I watched Monster’s Inc. Ben loved Sully so much. Sully was one of the first “people” we told about our engagement. He also made such a fuss over Ben when Ben was in the wheelchair. It was truly touching and adorable. I am always most moved by the scene in the film where Mike reconstructs Boo’s door and Sully provides that one piece he saved, which allows him to reunite with Boo. I wish I had that little piece of a door. It seems that these milestone days open the door, with the realization that my loved ones are not really there. Just the memories. They simply are not always enough. Especially in February, when that’s all I have.
I am no longer paralyzed on days like today, but February will likely always be a melancholy month filled with anniversaries of the loss of Ben, Daddy, Grandma, and my cat Disney. I have learned to coexist with grief and be intentional in dedicating the day to good memories and focused reflections. That feels right to me.
Happy Birthday, My Mickey! I hope that you are eating birthday cake, playing music, and dancing- free from the constraints of ALS. No candle on a cake, but as always, the wish for a cure for ALS. Love, Your Minnie