Happy Birthday, Son

Today is son #1’s birthday. But the celebration (a family dinner) was held three days earlier while their Tita Aie (my only sister), whom they adore, was still here in one of her short visits from the province. 

As usual, celebrations in our household have always been food—glitz and trimmings are never in the itinerary. 

There are only four people now, minus Tony. Grief attack stalked me. Son #1, who was given the freedom to choose the menu, as the celebrator, made sure one of Tony’s favorites (roasted duck) was on the table.

After Aie left for the province, a feast from son #2 and family in the US covered our dining table anew! An extended celebration! This time, only the celebrator and I shared the meal while son #3 still had to deal with an online class. 

A conversation of two: 

Me: How did we celebrate your birthday last year? 

Son #1: You, JR, and Mother Teresa were all in the hospital watching over Papa. I was left to be the house-sitter. 

Me: Oh. (Grief attack snuck in.)    

Son #1: He texted me, “Happy birthday, son.” 

Me: Oh. (I held back looming sobs by putting one whole fried lumpia in my mouth.) 

Son #1: That was his last text message to me. 

Silence. Chomp-chomp. Chew-chew.  Bite-bite. 

It would have been the perfect time to echo Tony’s last text message but . . . 

I am better at writing: “Happy bithday, son.” 

Now, time to return to reason: Birthdays are grace. They are happy occasions. 

“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” Thessalonians 5:16-18 ESV