🎂 Skating Through Grief and Growth: A Birthday Reflection 🎂

Today, my daughter Maddie officially became a teenager.

That alone is enough to make a mama’s heart swell with pride and ache a little with nostalgia. But layered into this milestone is a quieter, deeper complexity—she’s my first girl. My fourth child. And the sister of the boy we lost. Today isn’t just a birthday—it’s another day lived in the space between joy and grief.

🥳 When Celebration Feels Complicated 🥳

Maddie, like her mama, doesn’t love being the center of attention. Opening gifts in front of people makes her awkward. And honestly? Birthdays still feel strange.

It’s only been four birthdays without her big brother Garet. Even though he’s been gone over three years, that number—four birthdays—makes the weight of his absence hit all over again. It’s not just missing him. It’s the shape of what should’ve been—him picking on her, teasing her about being “old,” sneaking her extra candy when no one was looking.

Instead, tonight, I got to see her other siblings step up and play that role. Not in replacement, but in continuation. Goofy jokes. Teasing. Shared laughter. It didn’t erase the ache. But it softened it. We focused on the fun. On laughter.

🛹Finding Joy Where You Least Expect It

Maddie chose the skate park for her birthday—a place that’s become safe and joyful for all of my kids.

It started with Kaden. Then Maddie. Then Kaelin. Now even the littlest ones and the grandkids join in. Tonight, my dad—yes, my dad!—even got on a board a couple times. I won’t lie; I was panicked he’d throw out his back. But he beamed. He told stories of skating down Pierson Blvd with his friends back in the day. I swear he looked just as happy as the grandkids!

While the kids scattered across the park—some skating, some eating pizza and cupcakes, some just soaking it all in—I stood there and realized something: this place is sacred in its own way.

It’s loud. It’s chaotic. But it’s also full of life and connection. The skate park crowd, all ages and backgrounds, shows up for each other. You see older kids teaching younger ones. Strangers cheer on someone trying a new trick for the tenth time. There are tiny moments of mentorship and support that you almost miss if you aren’t looking.

My children have found community here.

And tonight, that community wrapped itself around us and gave us a space to celebrate—without needing to explain the empty space Garet left.

💜 What the Skate Park Taught Me 💜

Tonight reminded me that healing doesn’t always come in soft, quiet moments. Sometimes it shows up in unexpected places—in scraped knees, shared cupcakes, and the whoosh of skateboard wheels underfoot.

We don’t get to skip the hard parts. But we also don’t have to feel guilty when joy sneaks in. When laughter comes easier than expected. When a birthday—though different—still feels beautiful.

We carry Garet with us into every moment. But tonight, we carried him in smiles instead of sobs.

And that? That’s a kind of progress I’ll take.

📝 A Note to Other Grieving Families

If birthdays still feel strange… that’s okay. If your child doesn’t want a big celebration, that’s okay. If they do and it still feels like something’s missing, that’s okay too. There’s no wrong way to do this.

Just let the love be bigger than the ache. Even if only for a little while.

And maybe…find a skate park. 😉 🛹

Light and Love,

~Mandy

Stormeyes Enchanted