5 years

Well, the five-day period that begins with Adelaide’s deathaversary and ends with her birthday – aka hell week - is upon us… for the fifth time. I won’t pretend that it feels like yesterday, because it doesn’t. The life we lead now bears very little resemblance to life with Adelaide. That high-stakes, medical life feels like an old pair of my favorite jeans that no longer fit the way they used to. The love, comfort, and memories are still there, but they are from another era. As we have grown further and further from that life, each hell week has felt different a well.

Year one was about surviving. We’re talking base level shit. Eat something, drink something other than alcohol, get out bed at least once.

Year two I started our tradition of going to a sunflower farm. For no reason other than it was beautiful and ate up a chunk of the day. The day still sucked, but at least it was pretty.

By year three, Anessa had joined our family. I was processing and healing, the day felt cleansing like the release you experience after a good cry.

Year four marked the point where Adelaide had been gone longer than she was with us, a complete and total mind f***.

And now, year five.

For the first time, I have allowed for other plans on these days. On Saturday, her deathaversary, Jackson will have a baseball game before we visit the sunflowers. And next Thursday, on her birthday, I will attend a CURE Epilepsy board meeting (virtually).

Life is poking through on these days. Like buds sprouting through garden soil. My gut reaction was to pluck them away like weeds, to hold the days barren and sacred. But instead, I paused and have chosen to let life grow. Limited life though, and only life that brings me joy. There are few things I love more than cheering Jackson on at his games. And I can think of few ways to better honor Adelaide on her birthday than spending an afternoon helping guide an epilepsy research organization.

Until earlier this week, my anticipatory anxiety had been less intense this year. I thought it was because I knew what to expect, was distracted by the increased demands on my schedule, or maybe it was just the passage of time. I started to worry that the days would feel almost normal this year. I was starting to grieve my grief.

But then on Wednesday, an anxious melancholy rolled over me like ominous clouds preceding a storm. In between my breathing and grounding techniques I felt a sense of relief. The pain was still there. Time had not stolen it from me yet.  

These anniversaries are evolving which, I think, is the best way to keep them intact. The most important constant is that we are together as a family holding Adelaide’s memory a little closer than usual. My fear that these anniversaries will at some point feel like regular days, makes maintaining the traditions that much more important to me. They are my failsafe.

In a bizarre twist, this year I’ve found myself looking forward to her anniversaries. As awful as they can be, they make up some of the few days a year that I give myself permission to succumb to my grief. I’m not great at granting myself grace, but I’ve established these days as exceptions, along with an additional emotional hangover day which usually hits me the following week.

 Whether the plans are too much or just right, whether I feel the need to be vertical or horizontal, whether the loss moves through me or bowls me over, I allow the days to be what I need them to be.

It strikes me as I’m writing this that I *could* choose to live everyday this way. That I might feel more emotionally and physically connected if I gave myself the option to tap out when I needed to AND (most importantly) not feel guilty doing so. I suppose this would fall under the category of mindfulness. Maybe if I designate a specific mindfulness day of the week to start with? But if you schedule mindfulness or add it to a to-do list does that negate the effects? That sounds like a future Kelly question. Right now, I’m going to hold Adelaide close in the only way left to me and accept every feeling that accompanies her.

Picture ID: Kelly, Miguel, and Jackson, hugging on the edge of an expansive sunflower field with trees in the distance. Jackson’s back is to the camera and his head is covered by Kelly’s arm. Miguel is resting his head on Kelly’s shoulder. Jackson is wearing an orange t-shirt and jeans, Kelly is wearing a white shirt and jeans, Miguel is wearing a maroon sweater and brown jeans.