A bittersweet birthday.
This month is the month I turn one year older. Not that I ever feel it. That’s the beauty of running around after young children I suppose.
But here’s the thing – my birthday is not just my birthday. I’m in the unusual position of sharing it with my mother and grandfather. Three generations of family all born on the same day.
Whenever I tell someone my ‘fascinating fact’ it is always met with gasps and exclamations of “wow, that must be brilliant”.
The truth is though that growing up, I never fully appreciated how lovely it was to share a birthday with 2 other members of my family.
Not until now.
Because I don’t any more.
My grandfather sadly passed away last October and as I celebrate my birthday this year, it feels like a part of me is missing.
Because we used to be a 3.
Now we’re a 2.
And 3 into 2 just doesn’t go.
No more will I see my grandfather’s face on our birthday, except in my dreams. No more will I hug him, kiss him or tell him that I love him.
But I can still wish him a happy birthday and remember him.
I thought it would be nice to release a balloon into the sky, but Olivia got upset at the thought of letting it go. My grandad wouldn’t want anyone to be upset, least of all his little princess.
So instead we lit a candle, had a moment of silence and I thought of him.
I remembered the time he took me to his allotment and the sleepovers I used to have with my sister.
I remembered how he always supported and believed in me.
I remembered how much he loved his family, especially his grandchildren and great grandchildren.
I feel privileged that I knew him for 35 years.
Sleep well Grandad… and happy birthday. I miss you, but I will always remember you.