My dad was unassuming in that way--he did a lot of things without asserting his right to recognition for them at first. So perhaps it fits that he wouldn't push the issue of his birthday.
There is also the proximity to my parents' anniversary. Their anniversary is only a few days before his birthday, and this year, as last year when I wasn't here, it would be a difficult one for my mom. Something had to be done. And I realized then, that without any effort of my own, the issue would not be taken care of. Dad quite literally, wouldn't be able to take care of it for me.
So I picked her up some flowers. A small gesture, but one that made a difference.
I've always been a fan of the aphorism "it's the thought that counts" and with it the implicit belief that the important things in life are what you think and feel towards things. I've thought that the strength of a writer has to do with the originality of his ideas and that the packaging of those ideas was secondary, a means to an end. It is for this reason forgetting my dad's birthday worries me--I wonder what it suggests about my feeling towards him, our relationship.
But much of the time it is what you do that is really more important. Good intentions will only get you so far.
Funerals are thick with this. People are quick to promise that they will do "anything" for you, and that you have but to ask. But as it happens, people who are mourning generally have no idea what they want or need and lack the initiative to ask for it. It can at times be even more intimidating to have to remember to call these people who have offered their help, as though you owe it to them.
A friend just lost her stepdad the same week as my dad's birthday. Every time someone dies now, I feel as though I will know what to say, armed with my increased intimacy with death. But the words still aren't there, and the feelings are still muddled. It's a difficult thing for everyone. It is for things like this when deliberateness is important. When simply doing things even if they are the wrong things, is the best way to help someone. By putting a reminder on your calendar to do what needs to be done, to bring the flowers or the wine, regardless of whether you remembered the date.
So I picked her up some flowers. A small gesture, but one that made a difference.
I've always been a fan of the aphorism "it's the thought that counts" and with it the implicit belief that the important things in life are what you think and feel towards things. I've thought that the strength of a writer has to do with the originality of his ideas and that the packaging of those ideas was secondary, a means to an end. It is for this reason forgetting my dad's birthday worries me--I wonder what it suggests about my feeling towards him, our relationship.
But much of the time it is what you do that is really more important. Good intentions will only get you so far.
Funerals are thick with this. People are quick to promise that they will do "anything" for you, and that you have but to ask. But as it happens, people who are mourning generally have no idea what they want or need and lack the initiative to ask for it. It can at times be even more intimidating to have to remember to call these people who have offered their help, as though you owe it to them.
A friend just lost her stepdad the same week as my dad's birthday. Every time someone dies now, I feel as though I will know what to say, armed with my increased intimacy with death. But the words still aren't there, and the feelings are still muddled. It's a difficult thing for everyone. It is for things like this when deliberateness is important. When simply doing things even if they are the wrong things, is the best way to help someone. By putting a reminder on your calendar to do what needs to be done, to bring the flowers or the wine, regardless of whether you remembered the date.
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