Whiskey, Woes, & Words

I turned off the laptop camera and let the smile slide down my face. Moving my jaw around to relieve the stiffness of holding an hours-long grin, I stretched out my arms, and walked over to the kitchen window overlooking my quiet neighborhood. The marine layer was still heavy, casting a grey glow on the September morning sky.

After watching a fluffy-tailed squirrel run a frantic spiral around the tree, I picked up my phone to look at the notifications that buzzed during my new-hire training.

From: Dad
Buenos dias. Do we have a birthday wish list or you leaving to my own imagination?

My dad was the most reliable person in my life. Oftentimes, annoyingly so. If I needed to talk? He would give me a time to call him that day. If I needed to move? He hopped on a plane to help me move (Every. Time). Did he have a calendar reminder of when I needed to get an oil change to freak me out and make me think he has a memory an elephant would envy? Unproven, but I believe this to be true.

After my dad got past arguing about my vegan lifestyle, he found a local (now-closed) vegan bakery and sent me treats every Valentine’s Day for years. When I graduated from a 3-month management course while still working my 9-5, he sent over a gift basket as a congratulations, while also sharing his displeasure at my insistence that this was not a “real” graduation and I would not feel bad if “my parents were missing my first graduation ever”. During a visit to my parent’s house, he noticed that the handle of my luggage was broken, and had a new suitcase delivered after I returned home.

As I grew older, I realized that part of my dad’s love language was gift-giving. Sometimes, the gift caused a chuckle and confusion, and other times, was so thoughtful that it makes my eyes well up thinking about it.

Hindsight is really a bitch, isn’t it?

Every birthday since my dad’s death, I have read through my trusty archived texts to attempt to replicate the feeling of excitement that he had at my positive confirmation of a box arriving. I would send photographic proof that it remained unopened, and would not be opened until my “real” birthday. This was always followed up by a phone call or FaceTime chat to ask me how my birthday went and what my plans were for the day.

I didn’t really hold much weight about those who forgot my birthday, or who hadn’t sent a text, a GIF, or even called. I know life happens to everyone, and when someone did take the time to reach out, I was grateful. Sometimes my birthday day turned into a birthday week, or a birthday celebration every weekend the whole month. It’s fun when your friends and family want to celebrate you, isn’t it?

After my dad’s death, I have had to fight falling into the black hole of disappointment and heartache that threatens to drown me when the sun is setting on my birthday, and the missing calls, texts, GIFs, are a deafening drumbeat to the rhythm of my ever-present anxiety.

“Does everyone think I can’t have a ‘happy’ birthday, anymore?”

“Does everyone think I’m going to bring up how sad I am and they can’t deal?”

“Did everyone forget me?”

“I always make an effort on everyone’s birthday, is my birthday not important?”

Cue my anxiety pulling my depression into the orbit of the black hole and leaving me so utterly incapacitated that the only thing I am capable of is staring at my journal instead of writing the words that would lighten the burdens of my mind. Instead, I turn on The Great British Baking Show to redirect my focus to absolutely anything else other than the all-consuming self-loathing thoughts.

This last birthday, I realized I need to turn the focus back to my friends and family that ARE showing up. I have spent too much time longing for support and crying over people who haven’t made an effort to be there for me. I can no longer wonder why someone doesn’t have the capacity to hold space for me, and will work at adjusting the boundaries of that relationship accordingly.

Cheers to staying on the outskirts of the black hole and being present with those that show up.

“Happy moments can turn into pain, given time.”

-Matt Haig, The Midnight Library