Mom’s birthday on May 12 ends what my sister Karen and I call “Birthday and Anniversary Season.” It begins in March with the anniversary of our sister Denise’s Suicide and continues with the anniversary of Mom’s death, Denise’s birthday, our parents’ wedding anniversary, and then our parent's’ birthday. Oh, yes, and don’t forget to throw Mother’s Day in there, too.

It doesn’t matter how much time passes, those dates have become part of our muscle memory. If we would choose to ignore them, they would still remind us somehow that they are a part of us.

And yet the journey has changed in so many ways.

Having experienced the loss of my sister when I was 21 and then my grandmother– who I lived with during my freshman year of collage– seven months later, I was forced to forge my way through grief fairly early in life. Writing a book about Denise’s suicide plus traveling the world speaking about it, each time I told the story, it was like I rewove where it belonged in my life. There were pieces to let go, pieces to keep. Then the losses of my parents, leaving me without them at a much younger age than many people I knew.

I had to figure out where to place the losses, and the grief, in my life otherwise it would guide me to places I knew I didn’t want to go. I saw early that life was too short for that although I also had to find way forward when faced with a loss that many people never do find a way through.

Because I’ve spent so much time reflecting and continuing to walk the road, even when I can’t see where it’s leading, I’m also finding that I view grief differently than most people.

I know that many people have no words, and saying they are sorry is the only way they can express the sense of not knowing what to do. But please, don’t feel sorry for me. I can’t change what happened, especially something that happened more than thirty years ago.

I wish Denise were still here, but that’s not the life I’ve had. I have always known she is still with me and maybe in some ways it made it easier for me when my parents died– as if she were waiting at the airport gate for them to arrive (along with all the pet dogs who have moved on as well). Each time someone– or a dog– dies, I picture Mom, Dad, Denise, and all the dogs at the top of the escalator waiting just outside airport security for the loved one to arrive at what feels to me like a new home.

My life is full of inspiration because I’ve been open to it. I learned how to seek beyond what was right in front of me to see something more. And I always remind myself that Mom, Dad, and Denise are cheering me on. They aren’t part of my life in the way I ever thought they would be, but they are still are and that’s what most important. Please don’t feel sorry for me. I’m so very lucky.