Celebration

{On celebrating a birthday in the wake of loss}

I've been thinking about the things we say like "Happy Birthday" and "I'm sorry for your loss" and "How are you?"-- all of which are convenient conventions that stall out conversation and deaden the heart. What if being happy on my birthday isn't what I'm going for? And what are we really trying to say when posting on FB for someone's special day? Why not take the time to say something more meaningful and personal? Sure, it takes a minute and you might have to face those pesky feelings of inadequacy or fear of doing it wrong-- but imagine the impact. Here's the picture that just came to me. A hundred friends on FB wish someone they care about a simple Happy Birthday vs. the same hundred send that person five words that describe what they love about them. One feels bland, flat, and though there are tendrils on connection, little has been communicated. The other feels like a blossoming flower, a discovery, a mystery of bridges built and highways of love flowing without restraint.

I do not know how I will feel on Thursday when I awake to my first birthday without Hunter, but I'm crying now, so I guess that's a clue. I don't want to feel happy on this day. I want to feel what I feel, whatever that is. And being connected to all of you helps me traverse these difficult milestones. What I crave is brave and honest engagement. I don't need perfect, I need real. I need your presence, not your silence. I need you to step through the veil of "I don't matter" and realize that you matter a lot. If you are reading this, your light is part of what has guided me during these dark times. Each light matters. Each light that dims itself or hovers in the outfield is felt, the absence is a tangible ache and feels like a hole in the fabric of love that has been wrapped around me so tenderly these months.

What if, each time you have the opportunity to acknowledge a friend's birthday you gift them with five words (or more) that describe why you are grateful they were born and live the way they do. Or you share a favorite memory. It's satisfying, I promise.

One last thing. Consider this is the last thing you'll ever get to say to your friend or loved one-- How would that change what you say? I know that when I consider this, I feel more courageous and willing to be vulnerable. And if I've learned anything from my months of sharing the rawness of my heart here, it's that when I'm most open you, my beloved friends, also open up and allow yourself to be touched. And that point of contact is what will change the world, that is love in action, that is the heart working through the ache of being human IN community rather than in isolation.