Happy Heavenly Birthday MFH

 Yesterday would've been another spin around the sun for My Favourite Husband. 

He would’ve turned 63 and I, having brat like tendencies at times, would’ve given him a hard time about “being old”. I would’ve reminded him that he was fortunate to have such a younger bride (a whopping three years younger) and he would’ve simply laughed and rolled his eyes. 

He has a few “heavenly birthdays” under his belt now. I have no idea how he celebrates. I’m thinking he’s sipping a rum and coke by a pool overlooking a beach. Or by hanging out at a drag strip, watching cars run all day. If he’s my primary guardian angel, I’m sure he’s asked for the day off because really, he deserves a break.

I celebrated differently, down here with the mortals. There have been years where his birthday has made me sad but this year wasn’t one of them. Perhaps it’s because my April has focused on introspection and inner balance. About letting go and holding on and the joy to be found in both of those actions. I’m in a place of peace and so this year I celebrated his birthday with laughter and smiles in the remembrance.

I sprinkled extra love into the world with different random acts of kindness. I had an Easter meal with family, conversation that flowed with the laughter of life and love. Friends checked in with me about how my day was going, how I was doing, eager to share my adventure while giving me space. I got love and I gave love. What an incredible gift. 

Each act I did had a significance that attached the act and MFH. For although a random act of kindness is simply that, it can be done with a purpose, with remembrance, stated or unstated. 

Amidst the energy of giving and doing my favourite part of his day of celebration was the visit to the cemetery. I’ll admit, past visits wrecked me. Left me in shambles. Left me avoiding what could be a place of peace but, instead, was a place of triggers. After some sage advice from a heart sister, however, it no longer is. She suggested grabbing a coffee and simply having a conversation. And with that, a routine established, I know that my time spent will flood me with a feeling of comfort. 

I stopped I at the Starbucks in the town closest to the cemetery. Picked up a coffee and made my way out of town. Turned off onto the road that runs parallel to the river and leads to the historical country church and the beautiful cemetery on top of the hill behind it. 

There are three stop signs on that road, stop signs that made no sense to MFH. With the river on one side and acreages on the other - a clear view to the residents who wanted to turn onto the road - MFH would declare that anyone who grew up in the area did not need to stop. And so, I giggled as I “yielded “ my way through the signs, confident that although I didn’t grow up there, having been married to someone who did would cover me. 

Upon my arrival to the top of the hill I parked, grabbed my coffee and walked the short distance to his resting place. 

I sat down on the grass, kicked off my shoes and exhaled. Lifted my face to the sun and felt its warmth. Smiled as I felt the wind welcome me. And began….

I talked about things both grand and inconsequential. Laughed as I reminisced about birthday celebrations when he was alive. Talked politics. Finances. Gave him shit for not talking to his best friend who was looking for guidance in finishing the last project they were working on together. Said I was exhausted from a few different things and by a few different people and perhaps the time has come to simply do a few things a bit differently. 

We talked about how I felt about being alone but also that I was scared to date because I couldn’t envision a man who could scale the walls I’ve built. I know he gave me hell for that because the biggest thing he left me was the gift of knowing what romantic love can be. What a relationship can look like - good and bad, compromise by both. 

We chatted about how he’s at peace, no pain. I asked him if he could please come and visit, if he could help me out a bit more when I’m stuck. The wind was silent at that. I believe that to mean that he IS with me, I just need to be aware of the signs. And, as for figuring “it” out,

am. 

After about 45 minutes I stood up, slipped my shoes back on and said goodbye. Wished him a happy birthday and told him that I love him - always will. You don’t stop loving or remembering someone because they die. You just love and remember differently. Even though death has stopped the hands of the biological clock, I will always remember a little deeper and a little stronger on the days that mark the occasions of his life.

I left his grave site and the cemetery with calmness and peace. With love for him and for myself. With clarity about the past, my present and my future. With a celebratory heart and hope. With the gift of a story- my story- that includes the chapter that was us. 

Happy Birthday MFH. I love you.