The early days of August trickle in and fill the holes in my heart with reminders of him. I would have been to Petco at least two times by now trying to decide what oversized stuffed animal I would be bringing home as a sacrifice to his chronic humping habit. I would have been filling two bags full of treats from the cookie buffet and tossing one (every kind) to him to taste test. I’d be crafting a handmade sign listing all of his accomplishments in the last year and trying to decide what color balloons to get. I would be picking out steaks and ordering a birthday cake. This is what we did every year on Max’s birthday.

A casual acknowledgment never felt like enough to celebrate Max. We would put on the party hats and sing happy birthday. I usually had a candle that one of us got to blow out. Max never figured that one out. His birthdays mattered to us and especially to me.

Each birthday marked another year of memories and adventures with Max as well as a reminder of his mortality. I knew he wouldn’t live forever. I thought about it at least once a day, even when it wasn’t his birthday; how was I ever supposed to live without him? I couldn’t imagine my world without him in it. Birthdays fed me a whole plate of that sinking realization disguised as peanut butter biscuit pupcakes.

A couple of days ago I sat down and wrote that. I have so many feelings about Max’s birthday approaching and I tried to express them in my writing as I so often do when I feel overwhelmed with emotion. Or in this case, when I’m not feeling anything at all. It’s hard for me to put into words how much I miss him and how heartbroken I am to be celebrating my first August 18th without my fuzzy boy. Lately, I feel numb; like my emotions are paralyzed by my grief, suspended between the cherished memories we share and the reality that is now.

I closed my notes app and stopped writing. My final line, “Birthdays fed me a whole plate of that sinking realization disguised as peanut butter biscuit pupcakes.”

I went to work still feeling hollow, my heartache held hostage by numbness. I simply felt like a vessel for my grief carrying it around with no where to go.

As a few customers were walking in, a bright sign caught my eye in the foyer entrance, “YOUR DOG DESERVES CAKE.”

I thought maybe I was seeing things. That sign wasn’t there the other day, but now right before my eyes were the words I think I needed to hear. The bold letters leapt off the page and whispered a reminder my broken spirit had tried to silence.

“Your dog deserves cake.”

Put the party hats on, blow out the candles and eat the cake. Do the things that you would normally do to honor Max. Never stop celebrating him. Allow the time that he was alive to be as valuable as the years that follow after. His life still matters and his memory is worth honoring.

My soul and spirit exhaled in unison as I lingered on those words a little longer. I knew in my heart that this was a sign from Max. He doesn’t want August 18th to ever become a day without cake.

And as if I needed any more convincing, I scanned the QR code. It led me to the website of the small business behind the sign, a company that makes dog cakes and treats.

The owner’s last name was Maxson.

I think part of me feels numb because I’m not sure how to feel on a day like August 18th without Max. It doesn’t feel right to be happy, but I’m also trying to shed tears that won’t come.

Maybe that’s what Max is reminding me.

I don’t have to choose between grieving him and celebrating him. I can ache for everything I lost and still be grateful for everything I had. I can miss him so deeply that it hurts and still put on the party hats, light the candles and eat the cake.

His birthday doesn’t have to become a memorial just because he is gone.

It can still be a birthday.

And August 18th can still belong to Max.

I’ll never stop blowing your candles out Buddy. I’ll keep wishing you all of the belly rubs and treats you could ever have 💛