Four years without Henry

April 6th marked four years without Henry. His death anniversary and the month leading up historically mark the most difficult time of year for me. His end of life was not easy. Even though we offered a peaceful ending, it was filled with pain and suffering.

His birthday feels easier and happier. A time to celebrate his life, but his death, what do I do with that? Four years in and I still struggle with this anniversary.

The first year we spent the time leading up to April 6th cleaning out his room and sorting through what we wanted to keep for ourselves or future children, and what to donate. We wanted to do this earlier, but my body wouldn’t let me. We left his door shut the first few months after his passing. Opening the door was step one, and then the push from my doctor to finally get it done. I didn’t want to create a shrine for Henry. Donating was important to me. Allowing others to play and use Henry’s belongings brings me joy. Not keeping everything bottled up, but allowing him to live on through others. I hope somewhere a child is still playing with his old toys or using his old medical devices.

I laid in Henry’s crib after the 6th had passed. With his belongings removed, I still wanted to feel close to him. I cried and cried. During this moment friends showed up. It took me a few minutes to crawl out of the crib, but they were still at the door. Answering with a hug as I continued to cry. It remains one of those eerie moments. That someone out there knew I needed help.

Henry’s room cleaned out before the first anniversary of his death

I honestly don’t remember much about the second year. I was entering my second trimester with our daughter and gearing up for a home renovation. My hormones and feelings were all over the place. Things were changing, both physically with myself and our home. Our lives were moving on without him. Will donated blood as he often does in Henry’s memory, but beyond that my memory is cloudy.

Last year’s anniversary was on a Saturday. We spent as much time outside with our daughter as possible. Henry was happiest outside, and I am grateful that our daughter feels the same way. She ate her first blueberry pancake (Henry’s favorite food), but doesn’t have the same affection for them as he did. We spent time just the three of us, remembering him and thinking about what life would be like with him now.

This year was a bit of the same. Our daughter now runs wild at the playground, climbing structures for much bigger kids and going down the big slide. She’s more adventurous than him, but she still has the same stride as Henry. We had family over and ate fine cheeses in his memory. All of our lives continuing on without him.

I know there is no right way to memorialize this day. Time has softened Henry’s death anniversary, but four years in I still feel lost. Maybe one day I’ll figure it out, but probably not. If you’re grieving a loved one spend it however you feel. Skip it if you need to. You’ll feel differently from year to year, but that’s ok because I do too.