Balloons

Tomorrow is Valentines’ Day, which was one of Sarah’s very favorite holidays. It’s hard to say that there was a holiday she did not like celebrating: birthdays most of all (her own, ours, her friends’), V-Day, Hanukkah, Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Fathers and Mothers Days, and any other holiday for which the grocery stores produced balloons and/or for which she could be taken to Build-a-Bear to make a stuffed animal for herself or someone else. Earlier in life, before she needed a feeding tube, she was also a big fan of cake and ice cream. She loved collecting candy on Halloween and Valentines’ Day and just having it all dumped in her lap so she could see how much loot she had. She was always proud when she collected a lot, and then of course Max and I nibbled away at the stash over the next few days.

So this morning I’ve been feeling somewhat on the fence as to whether I should get her a Valentine for tomorrow. I always got her a frilly girly card telling her how much I loved her with a cartoon or Disney theme. I was thinking I could put this year’s card near her urn. I certainly don’t want her to feel forgotten tomorrow but I don’t want to work myself up into some sort of ritualistic compulsion to purchase cards and provide things for her as if I’m serving a Cargo Cult or idol. I have a tendency toward compulsion and I don’t want to feed that.

This is even more complicated by the fact that February is Sarah’s birthday month as well. It’s going to be difficult to see her 17th birthday come and go and know that she never reached it. She lived to be 16 years, five months, and 28 days old. I remember when I turned 17. For some reason I worked myself up into a state of anxiety (surprise!) because I felt that I was “old” and nothing had “happened to me.” I remember crying because I felt my life had held no meaningful events and I was somehow past my prime and missed my chance. (All I can say is that I vaguely remember that Madame Mao was very much in the news at approximately that time and guess I must have thought she really made something of herself?)

I remember my parents consoling me that 17 was still very young and that many things would happen to me as I got older, went to college, and so forth. I am sure they did not foresee the death of a child as one of those things. I wish sometimes that I could go back to that stage of my life and live my life over, somehow differently, to avoid this happening. But would I have wanted not to know Sarah, to not have 16 years, five months and 28 days with her? No.