Yesterday would have been my Dad’s 93rdbirthday. He came up just short of that milestone, but we honored him with a Filipino dinner last night. It’s a small consolation, but a consolation it is, and it reminds me how he is still here in some way – in spirit, in laughter, in memories, in food, and in family. Our year of marking firsts without Dad has begun – first with my birthday, and now with his – and I’m finding comfort in still celebrating these dates. It brings him back to us, in a strange way. I thought I would be sad or upset by it, and there is an element of missing him that pervades these days, but mostly I’m happy for the reminder of him. Missing him is tangible evidence that his spirit remains strong, that his presence hasn’t dissipated. It’s strange the way some pain provides proof of significance and import – an emotional badge of honor that indicates love was here – and more importantly that love is still here.
In some ways, our little celebration didn’t differ from the usual dinner gatherings we had for him – my Dad was never one for gifts or hoopla or celebrating one’s birthday with bombast or excitement, and he’d have been the first one to escape from such attention immediately after dinner was finished. He didn’t even need his favored lemon meringue pie – sometimes I felt he was humoring us more than himself during birthdays and holidays, and the older I get the more I think I understand his ways.
And so our year of firsts continues. Slowly, and a little unsurely, we are finding our way.
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