A Girl Called Jhani

Today is my dad's 62nd birthday.

The past nine months have been a whirlwind of emotions regarding my dad's absence, but his birthday is a day I have been looking forward to. No matter how palpable his absence is on any given day, today is a day to remember him, miss him, love him, talk to him, and most of all, to celebrate him.

And so today, I come here to make a little tribute to him, to let him know I'm thinking about him on the one day of the year that is his and nobody else's. Below are some photos, a poem, and a video. I never tire of looking at pictures of him and I keep a number of them on my phone. The poem by Mary Oliver is one of my favorites and it is a true testament to how my dad lived his life - boldly and curiously and adventurously. The first time I read it was after my dad's passing and it gave me comfort to think that death doesn't have to be so scary but rather, another thing to explore. And finally, the song, sung in this version by Eva Cassidy, was one of his favorites. I still remember the first time he played me the original version when I was in the fourth grade.

Today is not a sad day, but a joyous one. Happy birthday, Pop!

When Death Comes - by Mary Oliver

When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn 

when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;

when death comes

like the measle-pox;

when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility, 

and I think of each life as a flower, as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth

tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something 

precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened

or full of argument. 

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.