That Time of Year

Every year around this time, I would begin preparations for a huge themed party for Indiana's birthday, something I have done every year since she was diagnosed with cancer back in 2006.  These parties were big affairs, with lots of her friends (and ours), lots of food, games, and prizes, and lots and lots of theme.  I typically started planning months in advance, picking a theme and then designing invitations, ordering decorations, planning a menu, choosing and designing games, buying prizes and party favors, and spending days getting the house and all of the food ready. In the early weeks of planning, I would become consumed (we might even call it obsessed) with planning.  Everything had to be perfect.  Every detail.  Every plan.

I loved planning those parties.  It gave me joy to create something for her, even though she didn't care about all of the details.  She loved her friends though--her eyes would light up with each one who walked through the door.

I remember last year's party--a fitting princess theme for The Princess.  Indiana's health was declining, and we knew it was most likely her last birthday party.  So bittersweet, but we threw ourselves and our love into every bit of it.

I will carry with me forever the memory of my beautiful old dog, laying on her favorite bed, like The Princess she always was, surrounded by dozens of friends and family, all people so dear to us, and to her.  Everyone was singing "Happy Birthday" to her, and the joy on her face, the truly palpable feeling of love flowing through the room--I will love every single person at that party forever for giving me that memory.

And now, nearly a year later, I feel lost.  I don't have a party to plan.  I don't want to plan a party.

Her birthday has been on my mind lately.  After 6 birthday parties, this year there will be none.  How will I spend that day? Do I celebrate her life? Do I keep busy with other things? Everything will hurt.  What will hurt the least?

As I navigate this spring, trying to keep my mind off of something that has become such a habit, such a joy, I know there will be pain.  I know I will miss her.  I know I will miss giving the gift of a party to her.  But I will think about parties past, about her beautiful smile, and room full of people who gave me a gift I cannot even express--the gift of pure, kind love.