Birthday

I cut my hair over the weekend.  Quite a dramatic change, my hair has been shoulder length for a couple of months now.  I just needed to do something different. 

Its my dad’s birthday.  The most feared day of my year.  

I always have to remind myself to not burst out in tears at work.  Making peace with the day he died is one thing: that’s hard, but its ongoing and heartbreakingly sore. You make peace with the fact that it’s a constant in your life. 

But birthdays only come once a year.  It’s the day when you want to jump him with a bear bug, spoil him with good dinner, bake a cake especially just for him, ice it with colourful sweets and spend time just being with him.  

I miss his birthday: I don’t have anybody to spoil, or to bake cake for and putting flowers on a grave doesn’t quite fill that void.

I have to remind myself every time when I feel like this that all people faces all kinds of crap. Even though I feel like I’m the only one having to deal with a traumatic illness, watched him lose his mental and physical abilities and feeling so out my depth.

The sky will probably still be blue in 20 years time, today.  I will have more wrinkles and will have more stories to tell, but I hope that I’m wiser. 

And that I’ll remember him, all of him. And find a way to celebrate life. Somewhere, everywhere.