What we choose to celebrate

Last week, it was my birthday, but I was away for a week, so when I came back to work today, I got all the best wishes. I thanked my coworkers, then went on with my life. I don't really get why people celebrate birthdays. Actually, I do, but only for people who've had a life-threatening scare or are fighting a life condition, which they have overcome (maybe just for now, but a day at a time). In these cases, the people have sort of 'earned' the understanding of what an amazing achievement completing another solar year really means. For the rest of us, who simply live by inertia, unconsciously grateful for modern medicine and a comfortable environment, it has no real meaning.

So, why was I away last week, if not to celebrate my birthday?

To celebrate life.

In a few days, it will be my mother's 7th death anniversary, and my sister and I decided it was time to let her last remains go free, as she loved being. We decided to release her ashes, close that cycle. More than anything, we decided to celebrate my mother's life and the joy she meant to us.

I went to visit my sister for a week, enjoying the company of people I love, people she loved. My nephew, whom my mum used to call 'shrimp' (he's about 1.80 m tall), also came to celebrate her. We got her the kind of box she liked, we placed with her some of her loved flowers. We set up a play list full of fun, full of funky beats, full of gumption. We placed her in the sea, where she can float and swim, go anywhere in the world, under the brilliant sun she worshipped. We laughed remembering her quirks, and her no-nonsense approach to discipline (wide open palm, once, across the face, which we all resented yet made us laugh that night). We made a feast, ate and drank in her memory, ended up with some fresh strawberries and rich whipped cream. We cried a bit, together; we mostly laughed, together.

We said goodbye, not to celebrate her death, but to remember her life. We chose to embody her joy, to release her by reliving what she loved. We were finally able to love her enough to do so with honest zest. We go on with life, as she urged us on, all those years back.

Life and death, they are a constant, which can be very sad and scary, or life-full, love-full, courage-full.

Last weekend, we chose love, we chose life.

Letting my mother go was the most exquisitely painful and loving moment of my birthday week.
I couldn't have asked for anything better, anything more. 

Celebrate those around you, not once a year, but with every laugh, hug, chat, tear you share.

I celebrate you.