The phone will ring today, and I will think it’s you calling to sing me happy birthday.

But it won’t be.

This is the first birthday in my entire life that I won’t hear your voice wishing me a happy birthday. And it’s a new wave of grief that I didn’t anticipate.

Throughout my adult life, a happy birthday call from my mom was always a happy birthday call from both of my parents. My dad wasn’t the type to call on my birthday. His wishes came through my mom. So the year he passed away, my birthday didn’t feel much different. 

But this year, my birthday feels incomplete. 

Don’t get me wrong, when I look at my life, I’m incredibly grateful. But the sadness is still there. Because my parents are still not here. 

I read in a book that when one parent dies, the other takes the place of both for their children. My mom was often the “both” already before my dad’s passing. But now, they are officially absent from my life. And each new first brings its own wave of grief.

There is so much joy in my life. But joy is not the absence of sadness and grief. Sometimes they show up separately, but other times they walk with us hand in hand.

That is what my birthday looks like this year. Joy and grief, together.

I’m thankful for the blessings while grieving the losses. Grief can be the evidence of having the gift of something worth grieving. And for that, I am forever thankful.