My birthday is in October and I will be turning 57 this year. While I don’t particularly care about my birthday, I love this time of year for its beautiful autumn colors and crisp air. When I was little, our family would often take a trip to Alberta, Canada in October to see wildlife in Banff National Park and soak in the beautiful colors of the Canadian Rockies. One of my favorite adult birthdays was my 50th birthday. I spent my 50th birthday with my husband and parents in Yellowstone National Park. We stayed at a hotel in Livingston, MT and spent two days driving through the park looking at animals and enjoying the beautiful fall colors. This was an amazing birthday trip and it was awesome to see my parents light up spotting bears, elk, and big horn sheep. We had long days and enjoyed every minute of the trip. On the first night of the trip, I went to my folks’ hotel room and my mom had brought a birthday cake from Stevensville for me. We took pictures and as I stood there holding my cake and smiling, I had a moment of clarity and I remember thinking, “these are the two people who have been with me and wished me a happy birthday for the past 50 years”. I knew at that moment that there was change in the air and that I would not always have my parents with me. I felt grateful to have them on this trip, but I also felt anxious knowing that we would all eventually succumb to the inevitable.
At the end of our trip, we got up early and my parents headed west and my husband and I headed east. I remember telling my husband on the drive home that we needed to really try to spend more quality time with his mom and my parents because I felt like things were changing. Less than 14 months later, my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer and died a month later. My father died 14 months after mom passed. The realization or premonition I had while holding my 50th birthday cake had brutally materialized. Life was forever changed and there would be no more opportunities to spend time with my parents.
Five years have now passed since my mom died and despite my all-consuming grief, confusion, and feelings of loss, the world kept turning. Over the past five years, we have celebrated birthdays, holidays, the birth of our grandson, family weddings, and we have survived disappointments, loss, and change. I cringe at most holidays because the holidays are all reminders of the past and the number of empty chairs around the table is a reminder that nothing lasts forever. I honor my parents at every holiday by putting on a brave face and making sure the people I am lucky to have in my life have the best holiday possible. I use my mom’s beautiful china to serve Easter dinner, I play the Christmas carols that were a part of my childhood, I bake oodles of Christmas cookies and candies, and I try to recapture the happy childhood memories of years gone by. I text with my brother and we agree that “soldiering on” sucks and moving forward is what our parents would expect us to do. The days pass, the years pass, and the sting of loss lurks in the background rearing its ugly head at times of celebration and change.
I have a work trip in Missoula for a week in September and the thought of going “home” makes me physically sick. I do not want to see St. Mary’s Mountain, smell the mountain air, or see Washington-Grizzly Stadium from the interstate in Missoula. Instead of going home and being greeted with a shrimp ring, a Papa Murphy’s pizza (half baked) and hugs, I will visit my parents’ graves at the Florence-Carlton Cemetery and look at the mountains that frame that cemetery and wish for one more summer day in 1984. It does not seem that long ago that we were throwing footballs in the front yard, fighting over who had to shovel the dog poop, or ordering chicken dinners on Friday night from Fort Owen Inn, but it has been a very long time ago that all these things took place. The memories are good but the loss is raw and I am reminded that it is not the location or house I miss, it is all the people who made this place home and filled my childhood with memories that I miss. There is no choice but to soldier on and I will do so with a grateful heart knowing that the memories I make for my family today are ones that they too will cherish years from now.
