On a normal October 18, there would be celebration, stories and laughter, good food, handwritten cards expressing wishes for the next year and gratitude for all the love, and maybe a small bag of cashews for a gift.
But it’s not a normal October 18. It’s our first special day without Dad. Thanksgiving and Christmas are just around the corner, but today is Dad’s birthday. Instead, of all of us gathering together to celebrate over a good meal, we’re scattered today, hearts heavy, barely able to breathe the words that today is Dad’s birthday.
It’s still too fresh, too raw.
It’s the first birthday without him. The first of all of those firsts we will have to walk through from here on out. The first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, and on it goes.
Dad died just a month and 5 days ago from a tragic fall that resulted in a head injury so severe it took his life.
It seems like yesterday.
It seems like forever ago.
I have been with my mom this week helping her to take care of matters following Dad’s passing. I was up early this morning, as usual, drinking coffee, looking out the window that overlooks their pond, in awe at the beautiful birthing of a brilliant October day. Yet, keenly aware that this day was going to be tough for my mom, who had not yet awoken. Tough for all of us.
So much beauty.
So much grief.
This morning, my coffee-drinking chair was next to dad’s coffee-drinking empty chair. When I stay overnight at my parents’ house, one of my favorite things is to get up and drink coffee with Dad, who is/ was an early riser as well.
Normally, Dad and I sit near each other by the window, or out on the porch if weather permits, and we drink coffee, watch the new day dawn, and chat about life in between the moments of silence and stillness. It’s sacred in every possible way.
But today isn’t a normal day.
When my mom got up, she sat down in her chair in the dim morning light and said with a heavy sigh, Happy Birthday, Bud.
We sat there in silence together. Me, beside Dad’s empty chair, and mom across from his empty chair. Dad, you should still be there, sitting in your chair. It’s your birthday.
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Beautifully written, Tracy, and such beautiful photos. Thinking of you all and praying for comfort. Much love, Jenny Sprunger Raugh
Thank you Jenny. Good to hear from you- and, we appreciate the thoughts and prayers.
Such beautiful words. He loved you all dearly and talked so highly of you especially when he found out I was going to nursing school! In my own life I’ve learned firsts are the hardest! Prayers for you all in this season of life.
Jessica, thanks for telling me this story. One of the beautiful blessings of this time has been hearing all the stories about Dad. I’m sure he was very encouraging of you going to nursing school!
Tracy, you are so blessed to have such wonderful memories to recall. Hoping you find comfort and peace as you reminisce with your mom and family. You and Jeff are great comfort for your mom.
Neil you are right- we have so many wonderful memories of time well spent together. Such a blessing and gift. That’s not always the case.
What a beautiful tribute to your Dad, written with such love and longing. The photos were a perfect addition and honored him.
Thank you, Julie. I wanted to include the photos because they represent so much about my dad that can’t be entirely put into words.
What wonderful words and what a comfort you are to your mom. “Firsts” are the worst and with great love comes great grief. You were blessed with such great love, which makes the grief so much harder. Praying for your family❤️
Thank you, Joye. We feel surrounded by the prayers and support of others, which has been such a blessing.