I was born on his birthday.
I share his name….and every year from the time I was born until I finished university and moved away, we would celebrate our birthdays together.
The baby years where all I wanted to do was grab the cake, through the awkward years where I was “too cool”, to our last birthday together when he was in hospital.
I didn’t get to see him before he died. Family members all went to be with him, to be present, say goodbye. But I was too far away to get there. I figured it was okay. It hadn’t been that long since I had last seen him. But when I got the call that he had died I felt not only loss, but a horrible sense of guilt that I wasn’t there.
That night he came, in a dream that wasn’t a dream. He said to me that it was okay. It was okay that I hadn’t been there, and that he loved me and he would always be with me. That was it. So brief, yet with complete certainty it was him.
Today is our birthday and he is on my mind.
I know others who have had such visitations; from a child lost as a baby, a grandmother, a beloved dog. The stories need to honored as much as the memory.