A low birthday

What a contrast a year brings. Yesterday was my birthday. It was quiet, and deliberately so. I blocked the FB notification about birthdays, though I forgot to do that on LinkedIn. I also sent messages to the usual suspects about not doing anything for my birthday this year as friends had started messaging to ask me when I was free for treats and such. Usually it’s such a thrilling time for me. I love birthdays and I love celebrating them. This time, after my dad’s passing, I have a sense of deja vu. I don’t feel like anything. The time I felt this way last was when my mum died in 2006. My father understood this, and he was patient with me. His passing feels like a bandaid has been ripped off a wound, causing it to get bigger. I don’t like this feeling.

It has been a lot of tears on my side. I genuinely dislike crying because it seems to leave a lingering headache. Additionally, I often feel that I look like I’m recovering from some kind of a hangover, which hasn’t been in my repertoire of experiences. Essentially I think I feel as rough as I look when I cry. And I dislike how it makes me feel choked. I think I use my words quite a bit, but crying deprives me of this ability. It also feels like my brain is off on some kind of tangent where I feel it trying to burst out of my head – that’s where the dull throbbing headache starts, and then it goes limp. It’s hard to function. I dread being with people then, and it takes a lot of energy out of me.

Perhaps the dread of being with people when I feel sad is my problem and perhaps it is something I need to work on. I feel a pressure to be okay. I feel I need to put a positive spin on things, but maybe, it is also not always bad to see the silver lining.

Yesterday I attended a wedding. It was beautiful! I loved how my friend and her husband planned a wedding that really pointed everyone to Christ. Their focus was on all the right things. The beauty of marriage, its purpose and design, the roles of the couple and the community around them in light of God were all beautifully expressed. I was thankful for the delightful expression. It took my mind off my own sadness. It felt like I’d successfully left this sadness in the carpark. It was a beautiful, beautiful wedding. I had the privilege of some lovely conversations too. It feels like such a paradox saying I don’t want to be with people when I’m sad but at the same time having these lovely moments of connection where I can say I enjoyed something. There’s that bittersweet feeling that I’ve got all too familiar with.

I loved coming home. A faithful cousin caring for my pup while I attended the wedding meant that my home didn’t feel vacant when I walked in. It made such a big difference to me yesterday. She needed to leave and there was a moment when Gamora and I had to ourselves before spending time with my girl friends. I lay in my father’s bed. His scent still lingers in his room and it feels like home. I lay in his bed with Gamora next to me. She’s such a licker, but I think she went into overdrive trying to stop every tear that fell from my eyes. My little Gamy girl is a sweetheart. She really is a blessing.

I miss my father. In 2006 when I lost my mum, it was the first time that I stopped wanting to celebrate my birthday. It took a while to get back to the celebrations but before I did, my dad would suggest quiet dinners which I gratefully accepted. It is painful that he isn’t here. It is painful that mum isn’t here. It feels wrong. I did have blessings come in even in this dark, dark moment in my heart. There’s a gorgeous Swiss roll, which Gamora has been eyeing, from a lovely friend with big struggles of her own. Then there’s my cousin who came to mind Gamora and keep me company, and some really thoughtful messages from friends and family. Really – lovely ones. Poems, kind words, and voice messages. The cutest one goes hands down to my cousin’s son who’s only a month shy of turning five. He sent his messages as a baby Batman dog. Heaven alone knows what that means but it was beautiful. All of these were comforting. And then there were a couple of my girl friends with whom I got to spend the evening. It was good chatting about all sorts of things. Another moment where the sadness in my heart was told to calm down.

The reality is, it’s probably going to take a while before I feel like birthdays are doable. Gosh – I remember every cake my parents and then later my dad, got me since I was five. It’s mental. My parents made such a big deal of me. In the later years of his life, my dad wasn’t able to organise cakes but he would give me cash and plead with me to get a cake. It must’ve been a pleasant association for him too. It was how he and mum expressed celebrating me. There were times I’d want to forgo some cake because there was just us two- but he made me get something, even if it was just a couple of slices. Maybe it is what my father and mother did that makes me associate birthdays and other celebrations with cake. Maybe it is why I usually offer to make a cake or when I can’t bake it, I get one. My mum was never into baking, and we’ve always wondered how I got into it. Maybe it was this. Maybe I associate this with a form of loving. As I say this, I do feel sadness, and there are tears. But there’s also a warm feeling very deep inside. I grieve because of how much love I was shown by my parents. I have been so blessed.

I’m also blessed because there is so much love all around from family and friends. I love the news of travels, new pups, and all sorts that have been coming in- gentle, warm, and loving. I will listen to the voice messages from yesterday once again. I will reread the poems and special messages once more. I will reflect on a lovely meal last night, with lots of laughter and some moments of shared loss. I will remind myself that the Lord has blessed me with so many other blessings in the people around me. I will remind myself to trust Him. Last night, as we sat around the table, I was again reminded of Psalm 133, a song of ascents, of David. Lovely king David. It says in its very first verse, ‘Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity!’ What a wonderful thing indeed. For as the Psalm says, friendship is like ‘precious oil on the head’ and like ‘the dew of Hermon which falls on the mountain.’ Beautiful, beautiful imagery of being refreshed and recharged by the anointing of the head with oil, and by dew that keeps land from drying up like a desert. Even in these days that feel sad and dark, I am refreshed and renewed by wonderful family and friends who are my blessings from the Lord. I treasure this blessing – even when I feel my heart is broken. So I can say, thank You, Lord, for Your generosity to me.

Papa and mummy – I miss you.