Firsts

Twenty-seven years ago today, at 11:42pm, after 26 hours of miserable labor, I was born by cesarean section to Daniel Mark and Lori Anne Hubbard.  My dad was twenty-five and my mom twenty-four, in July they would celebrate their second wedding anniversary.  It was on their first wedding anniversary, July 9^th, in Reno, Nevada that my mom ushered my dad away from the blackjack table to inform him that she was either: pregnant or dying.  Sure enough there I was on Saint Patrick’s Day nine months later.  I was what you call an “accident,” but I must say the best accident two married people can have!

Since my dad died, I have heard from many, that it is all those “firsts” that occur after the death of someone close that add to the emotional difficulty of loss.  Together we have faced the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, the first New Year’s Eve and his birthday.  All were hard and required courage, a deep breath and the support of one another to make it through.  I knew at each of these family gatherings that my dad would want us to smile, to laugh, to love.  I also knew that he would be there with us every step of the way.

When lost in thought and considering all those “firsts” I never considered my birthday being hard.  It simply did not cross my mind.  Yet, I am realizing that on your birthday you naturally think about your parents.  They are of course the people who brought you into this world, who nurture and love, care and comfort, guide and support, each day of your life.  As I have gotten older my dad was usually the first person I heard from on my birthday, as we are both early risers for work.  This morning there was no call.  Today there will be no call.  It is the strangest feeling, knowing that for the rest of my birthdays, my dad will not call to wish his Wacker-Doo a happy day.  Even though I know he is sending me love this very moment, it is just not the same.

I am a very lucky girl to have been born to the parents that I was.  Today I am doing my best to be grateful that I had the years with my dad that I did, not angry that he will not know his twenty-seven year old daughter.  I am grateful that twenty-six other birthdays were shared with him.  I am reminding myself to be thankful that my dad was the man and father that he was.  While the time spent together will never be enough, it was still enough for him to have a profound impact on my life and the woman that I am today.  I will continue to do my best each day to make him proud.  To live each year of my life to the fullest and take nothing for granted.  To appreciate my family and friends and life and all the small joys that occur all around. My dad would expect nothing less.