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The dates we live by

May 31, 2010

There was a time when April 17th was the day when my sister was born.
Now it is also the date when our father died.
Until last year, April 30th was the day when I was born, and later that my great-grandfather had died. Now, it is the day that we observed the 13th day of the passing of my earthly father.

Everything has become topsy turvy, and yet there is a clarity of vision that only those special tears that shed for a father who transitions, can bring.

Yes, April 17th is now also the day he was reborn into his spirit; into his expanded self. Both my sister and I felt that, actually – that his passing on her birthday, which was also his ‘birth’ as a father, was a blessing for her. A rebirth for him. We each saw his spirit, and [not!]surprisingly, the visions were very similar.

I had such guilt at my mixed feelings at age 6 when my great-grandfather passed away on my birthday and I missed him, but also wanted to continue the celebration, that for years after that, I couldn’t celebrate my birthday on the actual day. April 17th was the day when my sister and I celebrated our birthdays jointly. Two cakes, two sets of friends, lots of fun in the garden, playing old-fashioned games. My father was so cheerful and would join in play with us.

I realize now with this new clarity that for the past few years, I always have ‘ill days’ in April and no one can celebrate my birthday. Somewhere am I still blaming myself for the child’s feelings that a death deserved an observance, but so did a birthday, and when the two clashed, felt less unworthy at her disappointment that the birthday would be subsumed to the death?

Birth. Death.
Two truths of each life on earth.
Two amazing, wondrous, seemingly final transitions.
Two seemingly fixed points.
Yet we die the physical to be reborn to spirit and die in spirit to be reborn in the physical.

April 17th. The day a father was born and then passed away.
The day a little girl was born and then lost her father.
A day when two little girls celebrated their birthdays together and many years later, journeyed together to the place where their father had passed away.

I don’t feel fatherless. But yes, I do feel bereft.
Losing a father is a gift that allows me to fully feel the emotions that only humans can experience.
I embrace that gift whole-heartedly.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. June 2, 2010 2:00 am

    Meenakshi when you slipped by my blog briefly I had a feeling you may have posted and it was like a butterfly fluttering out an invitation to come visit your blog. I am deeply sorry for the loss of your father. Your post is deeply moving and humbling as we are here on this earth for such a short time and at some point we all must leave.

    I was in our Japanese garden looking to see if the lotus blossom was blooming and I thought of you.

    May we all touch down in our earthly presence as you do – with light, clarity and strength.

    warm hugs,

    Terrill

    p.s. I miss you:)

  2. June 2, 2010 6:47 am

    Thank you for following that feeling, Terrill. I have been offline but feeling connected. That’s how we live for each other, don’t we? In a way, meeting people online, specially if we’ve never spoken or met, is a wonderful way to see how we can connect without physical presence.
    Something that helps explain the continuing connection with my father whose voice I won’t hear with my earthly ears again; though who’s to tell them?
    They still hear the way he spoke to me the last time, in a voice dripping with love and playfulness.

    warm hugs back to you!

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