Happy 70th birthday to my dear M. He's not here anymore and, even if he was, he wouldn't want to celebrate. And I probably wouldn't have remembered it was his birthday either.
But it is. And he's not here. And as I don't quite know what to do with those facts, I'm writing this and telling you.
I'd never noticed his birthday fell on the solstice. It seems fitting for someone who brought so much light and joy to others and who always had the loudest laugh in the room. But who also found it very difficult to escape the heavy shadows and dark periods that dogged him, on and off. I hope he's closer to the sun now, a place where it is always warm and bright and clear without the spectre of winter on the horizon. He struggled with winter.
For us still here, the solstice is hopeful. The days are long and the sun is coming closer. We will find creative ways to live through our seasons.
M has continued to give me gifts in his absence. Of course, I'd swap them all to have him present; he's missed so many beautiful things that would have brought him much happiness. But that grief unlocked something.
Today we ate chips in the park after school with friends, watching our children fearlessly move through the world. Jumping their bikes on the dirt bike track. Collecting sticks. Crawling at a pace. We stayed too late and everyone got emotional. But it all felt like a gift.
If you want to hear me talking about M, grief and creativity I recently recorded this podcast with Java Bere.
It was a beautiful conversation but does cover sensitive and heavy topics, including death, baby loss and suicide. So go carefully.