Invisible birthday

He'd be four today.

We'd have cake and candles and presents and balloons. Instead there is silence, Trish took the day off work and the only thing we did together was more planning for the upcoming 25-hour Extra Life game day (Nov. 5, Medicine Hat Lodge). This is how we parent a child who's not here anymore.

Our charity team is doing great, now with more than US$13,000 raised for the Alberta Children's Hospital. The goal is US$20,000. We've got giveaways, this week a pair of tickets to an Oct. 22 Calgary Flames game to a random person who donates (at http://www.extra-life.org/participant/sean or http://www.extra-life.org/participant/trish by Oct. 15. Anyone who donates up until Nov. 5 can also add a note saying boy or girl and be entered for the gender reveal contest prize.

Some people wondered if we'd do something special today. A party maybe. No, while today was certainly fantastic four years ago when Dominic was born, now it's just depressing. We don't have him here to celebrate with.

It was the same on Thanksgiving. And I think Christmas will be a struggle too. Every day is a bit less special without him.

I suspect that will change in the years to come, especially once we have a new family member to share those moments with. But some days, you just need to not cope. Not put on a happy face.

I watched the first video I ever took of Dom today. He's quiet, trying to grasp his new surroundings as nurses measure him up, make sure he's OK. "This is your first interview!" I remark. "So, no comment is what Dominic has to say?" I said it jokingly, presuming one day he'd never shut up.

He was incredibly communicative, but he never did say any words. And that's the way it was at the end, when all I could tell him was how much I loved him and how much I'm going to miss him.