Daddy’s First Birthday without Him
On January 1 of the year after a close loved one passes away, the DVR in your mind starts. And it replays where you were with that person in the very last year of his or her life.
One year ago, on March 31, 2020, his 73rd birthday, Daddy was in a medical rehabilitation center recovering from a stroke, a debilitating fall and another hospital stay. With the nation in the throes of Covid-19, and no vaccine in sight, we couldn’t visit him.
Thanks to a kind nurse and technology, my three siblings, my niece, my children and I called to sing him happy birthday via FaceTime. The emotion was palpable and my father’s eyes welled up with tears. His salt and pepper beard, which was usually kept well-groomed and sharp, was a bit overgrown and whiter than before. In just a couple of months since his stroke, his body had survived that trauma and much more, but he was still fighting. Seeing him become emotional made us all tear up and wish we could be there to hold, hug and celebrate him.
We sang happy birthday, gave our love and hung up.
Today, there is no FaceTime call to arrange, no hoping he’ll be able to pick up his cellphone, and no wondering if he’s doing okay without us being there. The truth is, I know he is okay, better than that — in God’s presence experiencing fullness of joy. And although his body has perished, his spirit has never been more alive.
Yet even being armed with what my faith tells me is true, not having him here is still so very difficult. And at any moment a wave of grief can wash over me; reminding me that I’ll never see him, on this side, again.
And when that feeling of despair overtakes me, I’ve learned to sit in it and just feel it — the warm feeling in my face, the large chunk in my throat and the tightening in my chest. What I’ve learned over the past several months is that it’s okay to sit in the grief, but don’t stay.
So I force myself to be lifted by gratitude. And I allow myself to feel…
Gratitude to God for letting me be George’s baby girl.
Gratitude for his protective and safe love.
Gratitude for his belief that I could do anything.
Gratitude for the many laughs we shared, even when I made fun of his country sayings or the way he made fun of my obsession with watching The Golden Girls.
Gratitude for how much courage it took for him to rebuild the rest of his life after Mama died. And to even love again.
Gratitude for him being an amazing Papa to my niece and to my babies.
Gratitude for how he showed me the power of a determined spirit.
Gratitude for his love.
And I am reminded that even if he isn’t here, Daddy’s love transcends death and I am wrapped in it and consumed by it.
As the DVR of his last year plays in my mind, it isn’t all pleasant. It’s filled with small victories and major setbacks, with unanswered phone calls and voice trebling goodbyes. But one thing that I know for sure is that he fought until the very end and he loved far beyond his time on this earth.
So Daddy, today I’m going to blast one of the songs that we made our own. It’s the song that I played the night you died, as I sat on the porch in the rocking chair and cried — Say a Little Prayer for You by Aretha Franklin. The chorus fills my heart.
Forever, and ever,
(You’ll stay in my heart and I will love you)
(Forever) Forever, and ever,
(We never will part Oh, how I love you)
(Together) Together, forever,
(That’s how it must be to live without you)
Would only mean heartbreak for me,
Until we meet again.
Happy Heavenly 74th Birthday, Daddy.
