A grey sky, a bitter sting

Carrie,

Tomorrow is your birthday. I have been trying to think of a fitting tribute, something I can do to honor you. As if anything I do tomorrow or anytime will sufficiently honor you. Since you are in my head all the time I want there to be a physical manifestation or action to mark your birthday, something that is outside of me. Even though I can’t celebrate your birthday with you in person, as we have done many times, or even over the phone, which I would settle for, I want to outwardly note how grateful I am for our friendship and your presence in my life.

Last year I was determined to finish a knitting project that I had started for your 25th birthday and I planned to send it to your mom. I thought that working on it, for me, and using it, for your mom, might somehow bring this elusive notion of “closure” that everyone was talking about. Well, in typical Stacey fashion, the project is not finished. My grandmother’s birthday present is two months late and my mother’s present is now over a year late, so this might have happened even if I could have sent the final product to you in Santa Monica. But in the past year I have also realized that knitting something until the pattern says it is done was not going to bring any sort of closure. Time changes things, mostly your relationship with the pain, but the pain is still there.

A few days ago I received the reminder e-mail for your birthday from one of those online calendar services. I am still surprised when things like this happen. It’s a reminder that life goes on and most other people don’t know that you are gone. I know your parents had to do a ton of insurance paperwork and our old apartment still gets credit card offers in your name. I was shocked and offended when Todd still had to file his father’s taxes. Even though our lives have gone on, we recognize that they are now different. It seems like the rest of society should recognize this too.