My hardest days seem to come at the same time every year.
Robby died on September 8th and the weeks surrounding that day are the hardest. They are weeks that are filled with terrible memories and regrets and what ifs. I started this blog during those weeks. It felt so good to release my thoughts into the world. It felt important to remind people of Robby. It seemed wrong to keep his memory to myself. It felt bad to hide my grief from people. It felt like I had to let people know why the month of September isn't a happy one for me.
Robby loved Christmas more than any other holiday. Like most kids. But Robby didn't just love the gifts; he loved the atmosphere. Christmas is hard for me. I want to be happy, but it just feels off. Christmas was our first big event after Robby died and it was not good. I found the same to be true this year. My parents and I all put on good faces. My husband and I took our Christmas picture. My parents refused to take one. Their family is not complete. It feels wrong for them to take a picture they say. I wrote a blog then and posted about Robby on Facebook then. Christmas is a hard time.
Robby was born on March 4th, 1997. The weeks surrounding that day are so hard. They are weeks when we should have been celebrating him. This year he would have turned 18. A milestone in anyone's life. We don't get to throw him a party. We don't get to buy him a lottery ticket. We don't get to take him out for lunch or eat cake. I feel like I could talk about him for hours during this time. It was the same last year. I wanted to shout to people that an important day was coming up that they didn't even know about. A day that would go uncelebrated. A day that would be full of tears and regret. I want to write about Robby and share pictures of Robby endlessly. I want people to know who he was and to celebrate him, or at least to know that someone is missing from the world.
March is the month that Robby was born, my dad was born, and I was born. March used to be a month of celebration for my family.
The last full day I spent with Robby alive and well was July 4th. I hate that holiday now. I didn't know it was going to be my last day with him. I yelled at him that day. He ran a red light and I yelled at him. When we got home he came into my room and apologized for running the red light and said he didn't want me to be mad. He said he didn't want to be in a fight, and then he offered me a hug. We hugged and made up. He was always the bigger person. I didn't know how lucky I was in that moment. I didn't deserve a brother as kind and mature as Robby. The Fourth of July is a hard time.
I have a terrible day full of bitter, sometimes bittersweet, memories for each season. I know now after this first year that they will come like clockwork every year. Maybe the sting of them will wear off as the time goes by. I don't know, I don't even know if I want the sting to wear off. It would feel disloyal to him, I think.
I miss Robby and I want the world to know it. I want the world to know that March 4th is his day. It's hard not to break down during the weeks surrounding his birthday. The anticipation builds up in the worst of ways. I dread the day. I dread my brother's birthday. It's an unnatural feeling.
I struggle to find a way to celebrate him and to honor him.
I miss him. To express that is the only way I know to keep him alive.
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| Robby's First Birthday |
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