In memory of Charles Aubrey Rogers, 04.26.1995-06.05.2015

Each year, the photos of my son look more dated. His friends are going to grad school, married, with children, and moving up in their careers. How could all that happen without Charles? Most of all, how have I managed to move forward without him in my life? At first, I was emotionally underwater watching as everyone else got on a bus that I couldn’t board. Everything was moving so fast and I was suspended in high-viscosity oil, unable to keep up.

The first birthday was hell, unbearable, impossible. It’s not like that any longer– more like an undercurrent of frustration and irritability, a bit of social desperation, with periods of no motivation punctuated by sadness and a watery brain.

I wish I was hearing, ‘Hey Mom, what are we going to do for my birthday?’

He would ask months in advance of his big day. Charles thought his birthday should be a national holiday. Not that he was arrogant or a narcissist. He was not.

Charles loved parties not because of the gifts but because of the people and the excitement. Most of all he loved the anticipation. He got to call the shots–what games to play, who to invite (usually everyone he’d ever come in contact with) what cake to have and he’d push every limit and want the longest of all birthday parties. He wanted everyone at the house at 2 pm and then to spend the night. If it was less than 24 hours it was less than.

The last birthday and the last Christmas were not spent with us.

That’s a deep regret. He asked for help for his addiction right before his birthday so he was actually in detox. I had been planning a birthday party, excited that we’d be together for his birthday after not being together for some three years on his birthday but instead I had to cancel a cake and instead make calls to insurance companies to find a facility.

Family and friends were to be cherished because his relationships were the center of his universe. He was a tender-hearted soul–his vulnerability was beautiful, endearing, and sweet.

For me, the anticipation of his birthday after his suicide is usually worse than the actual day, April 26. But I know better than to speculate because it’s never how I think it will be. It might be this year the day of is really harder than the anticipation.

While he would be 29 on Friday, April 26, 2024, he is actually frozen forever at 6′ foot 2″, 135 pounds, and 20 years old. But I’m celebrating anyway.