Today is my birthday. I’m a big birthday gal. I love to turn birthdays into multiple day events. Why just a day to celebrate? Life’s too short for that. A week seems sufficient. Better yet, a birthday month.

On this birthday, I happen to be in Chicago. One of my favorite cities.

Yesterday I dropped our daughter off at O’Hare airport to embark on a semester of studies in Ireland. And today, my husband gets back from Africa. I figured I may as well just stay overnight rather than commute back and forth. I decided to seize the opportunity to turn this little getaway into a mini-retreat for reflection as I start another year.

Thanks to being Airbnb Superhosts (what a funny name), we earned a nice little credit towards our next reservation. So, I found a cute Airbnb in one of my favorite historic Chicago neighborhoods with lots of quaint coffee shops and close enough to Lake Michigan to enjoy walks along the water.

I was up early today, as usual, which given the time change is really early here in Chicago. The only coffee place open at that hour was Starbucks just down the street. So I got dressed and headed out for some early morning coffee and reading/ journaling.

This year I decided to commit to a one year read through the entire Bible plan. This morning’s reading started in Genesis 25. Eight verses in, I read

Abraham lived 175 years. Then Abraham breathed his last and died at a good old age.

Suddenly I have a flashback to that moment when I stood by my Dad’s bed in the ICU this past fall and watched as he too breathed his last. That whole scene replayed so clearly in my mind. For a moment my chest feels heavy and I have to catch my breath.

With the image of my dad taking his last breath in my mind, it occurs to me for the first time – this is my first birthday without Dad.

Double Whammy.

Thanks to Genesis 25:8, not only is the image and the memory of those last moments front and center in my head, but I’m also hit with the reality that there will be no birthday wishes from Dad today. I think I was so busy getting people to and from the airport that I hadn’t even thought about the fact that this would be my first birthday without Dad.

Dad also was a very early riser, even earlier than me. Since getting his cell phone several years ago, I would wake up on my birthday with a text message already on my phone from Dad. While Dad was an adventurous and fun-loving guy, he was also very predictable. I always knew I could count on that text.

This morning there is no text from my dad. And there won’t be either, or ever again. As the realization dawns, sitting there in the Starbucks on Clark Street in Chicago, the tears begin to fall. Really fall.

As a nurse and pastor, I’ve helped many people through their grief journeys. One of the things that is true about grief is that it can show up at the most unexpected times. I knew that to be true, but now I really know– experientially- this to be true.

I also know and have suggested to many people, that we must allow ourselves to feel the grief. Let it go as deep as it wants to go. It’s necessary for our own growth, transformation, and eventual healing. The grief expands us if we allow it to.

The gift of this birthday has been that the grief has been deep, thanks to the double whammy, and I’m ok with that.

After a while, I went on a morning walk by the lake. I looked out over the blue water as the sun was shining through a thin layer of clouds. And as I looked up to the sun in the sky, I heard my Dad say, Today, this is my gift to you. I am right here with you.

Or maybe that was God. I don’t know. Does it really matter? The fact remains that I felt the comfort and peace of a kind, loving presence.

Life is bittersweet for all of us. It’s never just bitter or just sweet. In the mixture of this thing we call our lives are those places of great sorrow that dance right beside those places of great joy. For instance, just as we don’t know light without darkness, I don’t think we could know joy or sorrow without the other.

It’s all truly a gift. So today, even though the sorrow has been great, so has the joy. On this day, I am immensely grateful and joy-filled for the gift of life itself, of my family, my friends, sunshine, water, sky, paths, feet for walking, lungs for breathing, and so much more. And, I am grateful for you, dear reader. May you, too, fully experience the joy that resides even in the most difficult of moments.

Coffee Photo by Kari Shea on Unsplash