Why I Still Sing Happy Birthday

“...Happy Birthday to you.” The last note lingers on my tongue for an extra second. I turn to look at my mother with an expression that begs, “What’s next?” Though it is tradition, the routine practice of the ‘Happy Birthday’ song still feels intrinsically unnatural. How do you celebrate someone who isn’t physically present? What do you do when there’s no one to blow out a candle and make a wish? Yet, year after year, that is what we do. 

On January 10th, we gather, we sing, we eat cake. We attempt a novel activity that we feel honors my brother, and then we recount the memories that have accompanied us throughout the day. That may feel punishing to some people, but it’s our way of connecting. A way to hold onto the memory of someone who is loved beyond this terrestrial life, and to hold one another in a rare display of collective grief. 

This year, the cousins came to honor Sebastian’s 15th birthday. We shared stories and videos while postulating how Sebastian might have celebrated the day. I baked a cake featuring Ang from Avatar, one of his favorite shows. And we released biodegradable balloons that resembled oversized doves. After all the celebrations were had, I got into my bed and rotted. 

There are two days out of the year when the outside world is more permissible to our grief, “angel-versaries” and birthdays. Cue the slew of texts from friends, coworkers, and extended family. People who want to let you know they’re “thinking of you”, when, personally, I’d much rather know they’re thinking of him. 

For this cause, I will not let them forget. I will bake an extravagant cake of every character, sports team, and hobby until I have exhausted every theme. I will gather my family from every corner of the world, and share with them the dancing and the laughter that used to fill my home. 

I will celebrate because that is what you do on a birthday. Nevermind the pain and melancholy that hides itself behind balloons. I will not be deceived into a rigid emotional palette. Instead, I will allow myself to feel the complexity and the strife within my spirit. Though sorrowful, I will rejoice. And I will sing Happy Birthday.