Ryan’s birthday

Today is Ryan’s birthday.  He always loved that day.  He didn’t expect much, or ask for anything, he was a guy of simple pleasures.

He often took his week’s vacation from work around this date, just to relax.

Our family does a big dinner for the birthday person, not always on the exact date, but when we can all get the same day free.  Many years, it would just be myself and Ryan, sometimes Sugarwings too on January 27.  So he and I would get a double celebration, once with the group, and another with just us.

 It seems like there was always snow on those evenings.  Bitter cold nights, that neither of us liked to face, but we were glad we did.  It seemed to be Jayhawks basketball time too, which neither of us like. And with his sensory disorder, the loud games were upsetting.  So we’d find a quiet restaurant with no tv blaring a game, or people shouting for their team. It was often Mexican food, and we would eat too many chips and guacamole, drink Diet Cokes, laugh, and plan what show we would watch when we got home. 

Simple evenings with my buddy, having fun, just being together. 


 Grief is a odd thing.  How it can morph from joyful memories to deep despair, shoot out at you with no warning with unexpected jolts of pain, or of sweetly remembered pleasant thoughts.

Grief is also layered when you lose a child.  I miss my companion of the later years, my friend.  My guac and Diet Coke buddy who I watched my favorite shows with, critiquing, laughing, and guessing about the plots throughout.

 He and I could talk for hours about nothing and be entertained. 

But then there are the flashes of his childhood that come after me with a fury.  When I remember that the tiny baby I held in my arms was dead.  That the silly little boy who loved to dance would never dance again.