It's that date again

It’s his birthday today.  This is his third birthday since he passed away.  The first one was only four months after he died.  It was a truly difficult day.  The second birthday date after his passing was another truly difficult day.  This is the third birthday date.  It is another truly difficult day.

Birthdays.  Wonderful and joyous celebrations for children and adolescents.  Once a person hits adulthood they are sometimes viewed as silly celebrations, by some. For others they are merely unwanted and irritating reminders of aging.  There are ampe bah-humbug Scrooges of birthday parties.  We all know some.    

Happily, for other gown ups, birthdays, whether it’s their 29^th, 59^th, or 79^th, are still an excuse to feel special for a day and celebrate in whatever manner they desire. 

That’s what birthdays were for Mr J and I.  We made it that way.  Many viewed us as being weirdly childlike and nonsensical to insist on making sure we fussed over each other on our birthdays.  This did not stop us looking forward to the annual occasions to use the dates as a jolly good excuse to throw a little bit of extra affection and appreciation toward the other.  It made us happy.  And gave us yet another excuse to once more wrap our arms around each other and whisper how happy we were to have shared another whole year together. 

We never thought or gave thought that it would end the way it did.  Our birthday celebrations together were going to be endless for us.

After all, we consciously assumed that when the end did come it would come at the same time for the both of us.  We made out our wills with the surety that our lives would end together.  We did not prepare for one or the other to be left without the other.  It never entered our minds.  Until the diagnosis, of course.

And so it is.

I do not, or would not, expect others to fill the vacuum of emptiness, nor do I want them to as sometimes those who try hard to make life easier and gentler for me become a burden to my grief and with their good intentions they can exacerbate it further. 

But I always, always, appreciate and feel nourished by their caring.  Because of that I feel great gratitude.  I am fortunate for the friends I have.  They constantly reassure me of their value merely by being good friends and often they fill the gaps that some family chooses to ignore.  The friends have certainly filled a few gaps these past three years, most particularly through this one.  On the date of Mr J’s passing, at my final Ironman event, on our wedding anniversary and on my own birthday date.  And today.

Today is his birthday. Today we had a scone. One cherished friend remembered the date, literally.  For it was the cherished friends who knew how much Mr J loved his scones, most of all his date scones.  Particularly the date scones which were purchased fresh or especially handmade for him; for any occasion.  It didn’t have to be his birthday.  Just as well.  Otherwise we would have been celebrating date scone birthdays every second week during his last years.  He was never short of someone blessing him with a date scone.

He was blessed with one this morning.

He’s such a lucky fellow.

         

And, I guess, so am I. For there is always a smile to be had in sadness - tis I who smiled this morning.  I got to eat Mr J's date scone.

It was lovely.

                                 

The offerings of friendship ...

Friendship can be a very fulfilling thing.

In my case, over fulfilling.

Over the past weekend I spent about 33 hours in the company of nine, eclectic, friends.  We had a sleep over night on Tiritiri Matangi Island.  A wildlife sanctuary to be put on everyone's 'Must Visit' list.  

However, apart from us ten meandering anthropological dullards, there is not a lot of actual 'wild life' (that one can visibly see) but there is a plethora of fantastical native bird life that has one stand in awe and wonder.  

The island's length would be approximately three kilometres and at it's widest would be, perhaps, a kilometre.  It is truly a little treasure island on our coastline.

Our trip, being an over-nighter, had us catch the Saturday morning ferry to the island and return the next day on the afternoon ferry.  A mere 32 to 33 hours of togetherness of ten friends.

Our only planned activity was to walk the island with our own personal guide who kindly gave up her weekend to spend it with us; this was due her being an extra-mutual friend of two in our group.  

There was a loose plan of some in the group rising on Sunday morning and enjoying a jog over the various island tracks and circumnavigating as much of the island as we could, whilst pretending to be the adept off-road athletes we once were.

However, on alighting from the ferry on Saturday we did enjoy walking as a group over all the tracks and ascents and descents along the coastline over the whole island, with the detailed guiding from our personal guide; so come Sunday morning there was noticeably no mention of heading off for that athletic jog that some had envisaged.  Mind you, that could have been due to some individuals choosing to rise before dawn to head down to the bush and shoreline to listen for the dawn chorus of bellbird, riroriro, kokako, stitchbird, tui and saddlebacks that are in abundance.

We all slept in the very well equipped bunkhouse on the island and were fortunate to be the only occupants, thereby having the bunkhouse to ourselves until Sunday morning.

Thus, in the weeks prior to this weekend it seemed that little had to be done in terms of preplanning or pre-packing for the mere 32 hour sojour.  

At least, that is what I thought.  Silly me.  This is a group of people who have the ability to rally around at short notice and be able to provide ample food and drinks for over two hundred people and still have enough over to feed many of the extended whanau for numerous weeks.

Some in this group began the pre-weekend planning weeks in advance by sending out general emails to each individual to let them know there would be a 'shared' dinner on the Saturday night to which each person would contribute their share of culinary and spectacular delights.

Before long there were emails crossing the city with precise instructions on who was bringing what and for how many and what colours their contributions would be.  Along with the instructions on the style and types of foods each would take, were strong instructions about the most important colours being the whites and reds of the confessional grapes that would accompany the evening repast.

Seems friends were ensuring friends were to never go hungry.

Therein lies the story behind the opening sentence to this scribe - friendship can be a very fulfilling thing..

It belies explanation how just 32 hours of over-imbibing on the fruits of others' love and labours could possibly cause the weighing scales to spin another circuit on the Monday morning to let one know - that friendship may be a fulfilling thing, but the gob should be kept shut throughout.


We began like this:


                         


We left like this: