The First Birthday Without Mum .... And Why I Changed the Plan

Mum’s birthday was on the 3rd.

Her first birthday since she died.

And I had been absolutely dreading it.

There are certain dates after someone dies that seem to sit on the horizon waiting for us.

The first birthday.
The first Christmas.
The anniversary.
The date they went into hospital.
The last time you saw them.

Sometimes the anticipation becomes almost as difficult as the day itself.

How am I going to feel? What should I do? How am I going to get through it?

I’d already decided I was taking Mum’s birthday off work. I knew I didn’t want to be holding space for anybody else that day.

I’d made plans. I thought I’d go out for lunch and do something to mark her birthday.

Then the day actually arrived.

And I couldn’t.

I didn’t want lunch. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I didn’t want to follow the plan I’d made when I was trying to predict what grieving-me would need.

So I changed it.

And that was okay.

I stayed home. I reflected. I spoke to my siblings on the phone. I allowed myself to be sad.

I looked after myself.

And actually, it was exactly what that day needed to be.

Grief doesn’t need you to stick to the itinerary

I think there can be enormous pressure around significant dates after somebody dies.

We can feel as though we ought to commemorate them properly.

Go somewhere meaningful. Raise a glass. Difficult when you are sober… Visit somewhere. Cook their favourite meal. Do something profound enough to match how much we loved them.

Except grief isn’t particularly interested in our plans.

You might think you want company and wake up needing solitude.

You might plan to stay home and suddenly desperately need to get out.

You might cry.

You might not.

You might go dancing and have a bloody brilliant time.

None of those things measure how much you loved the person who died.

You don’t have to perform your grief to prove your love.

That is something I’m incredibly passionate about in my work too.

I don’t want to tell a grieving client what their grief should look like.

I want to help them find enough space to discover what they need.

I bought myself a present

This was perhaps the part of the day I hadn’t expected.

I bought myself a present.

I’ve been doing quite a lot of colouring alongside clients recently, playing with inks, blending, colours and different techniques.

And I’ve been loving it.

So I bought myself a travel colouring set and some gorgeous pens.

They’re mine.

I bloody adore them.

And they’re now tucked away in my bag ready to come on holiday with me.

There was something really lovely about giving myself something on Mum’s birthday.

It didn’t make me less sad.

It wasn’t distracting myself from grief.

It was simply something kind.

And I think that’s important too.

Grief and joy don’t cancel each other out.

We can miss someone terribly and enjoy something.

We can cry and laugh on the same day.

We can be devastated by what we’ve lost while continuing to build a life around that loss.

That’s not forgetting.

That’s living.

Firsts are huge. So are seconds, thirds and random Tuesdays.

We talk a lot about the first year of grief.

And yes, the firsts can be enormous.

Except I don’t particularly like the idea that once we’ve survived the first birthday, Christmas or anniversary, we’ve somehow ticked it off.

There will be second birthdays.

Third Christmases.

Fifth anniversaries.

And there will be completely ordinary Wednesdays when something catches you off guard.

A song.

A smell.

A photograph.

Something funny happens and, for half a second, you think:

I need to tell Mum that.

Grief doesn’t work from a calendar.

Do what YOU need to do

So if you’re approaching one of those dates, perhaps you don’t need to work out the perfect way to get through it.

Make a plan if having one helps.

And give yourself permission to completely bin it if the day arrives and you need something else.

Go dancing.

Go for lunch.

Visit somewhere special.

Stay home.

Talk about them all day.

Don’t talk about them at all.

Buy yourself something lovely.

Get under the duvet.

Laugh.

Cry.

Do absolutely nothing.

There is no prize for grieving correctly.

Mum’s first birthday without her was incredibly sad.

I dreaded it.

It arrived.

I listened to myself.

I changed the plan.

And eventually, the day passed.

Another first I never wanted to experience, experienced.

And when the next one comes, I’ll meet that one too.

Not because I’m “moving on”.

Because I’m learning how to keep living while carrying someone I love with me.

One day, one me, one bloody shitty crappy heartbreaking first at a time. ❤️‍🩹

stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care

Louise x

Louise Malyan
Psychotherapist Counsellor
Wildfire Counselling & Therapy
wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk