Your birthday cake…
You’ve been on my mind this week…
Several days ago I drove through Cambridgeshire, near to where you were born and where I spent so many happy holidays with you and my grandma. I waved as I passed the local signs and smiled because I was in long ago familiar territory, albeit this time, just passing through…
And strange how these things happen, but then I realised that your birthday was happening this same week too. Birthday – ‘birth day’ – an odd word to describe an event for someone who is no longer alive. But then you were born and today is the anniversary of your birth, so there it is.
Then I start to number crunch… I am astounded that it is almost 100 years since you were born and that you died nearly 30 years ago. How can my own seemingly short life encompass such long centuries and decades? It doesn’t seem possible… We spent 23 years together in the living realm, less than half of this life lived, yet here you are, still in my heart.
I’ve been having a tough time lately. In the last few weeks I’ve felt like circumstances have bitch slapped me – a cold hard slap of circumstance having hit me roundly, in the soft, sensitive core of my emotional being. The core that I so often cover with a hard shell of external equanimity to the outside world.
The bitch slap came from someone who had misread me and so misjudged me, with strange far reaching consequences not all even beyond my own control; yet even though this incident has gradually dissolved and been resolved over slow time with my gentle encouragement, it feels like my emotional thermostat has stopped functioning and I am still reeling from the first shot of enmity fired recklessly at me, instead of rejoicing in a situation saved.
So what can a girl do? What can a confused menopausal woman do? What can a coach do??? I am all these things and none of them at the same time. So I employ the tactics of all. I get angry and self-righteous. I coach myself. I use the trigger to start some positive thinking and habits and I work hard to carry out all the necessary transactions of life and constantly explore my options. I distract myself with treats and time with loved ones. I spend time making a difference to some else’s life and help them to free their own pain. I unburden myself, bending my friend’s ears. And this feeling ebbs and it grows, but still it doesn’t shift. Instead like a magnet, it attracts other similar (so called) injustices, adding insult to injury and shows me, in doing so, that it isn’t properly healed yet, is not truly resolved. That different resolving tactics are called for. That I need to go deeper, further back and farther in. I can start to see the lessons to be learnt and I seek the teachers – both within me and without.
And so at this time, my father comes into my head, bought in by proximity and date. I follow these thoughts and remembered how in similar times of attack and trial, when I was bullied as a teen ager, that my father fearlessly defended me – not with fists, but with wisdom and words. He sought out my attacker’s family and talked to them and made it stop. He did not go armed with anger, he went to them instead with his calm power and strong reason and as a result that particular evil silliness stopped.
So this week, going through my mini hell of unreasoning internal attack, I remembered my father and spoke to him, and with a smile I asked him to intercede. “It’s your birthday on Friday” I said in my head “and I want to celebrate that day with you, so please help me by making everything right by then”.
As soon as the thought was spoken, I felt immediately light and happy. Instead of weighty gnarling turmoil, suddenly I felt love and laughter – two things I always got from my dear father in abundance.
And the days of this week moved quickly on and soon it was the day – the 19th of June. Your birthday. Out of my head and back in the world, I had a conversation that resolved the ‘bitch slap’ misunderstandings and ill issues. So at lunch time I went out to celebrate and, of course, bought a cake for you, and then I sat down and looked at it. And in my heart I sang “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Daa-ad, Happy Birthday to you”! And I promptly ate the cake. It was delicious. Thank you.
And I smiled again, because I knew how much you would appreciate that gobbling happy moment. And I remembered how you always wanted to support me. Then I thanked you for helping me again and being such a force of love in my life. It was a wonderful reckoning, to have that loving healing. A positive feeling replacing the tumult.
Now regardless of whatever your beliefs may be, my father helped me, and whether that was from heaven or from the simple memory of who he was for me, it really doesn’t matter. I live in the here and now and that is what I deal with. Still, my past and the people in it have influenced me in a myriad of ways and 30 long or short years after he left this life, my father’s love and support continues to serve me and save me. Again.
And that, whatever way you look at it, is an incredible legacy of love.
Happy Birthday Dad.
I love you still and always will.
Your own Cassandra Peewee xx
PS: Did you know that a collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, exploring all the facets of love in its’ gore and glory. This is love seen in every aspect of the life that I live. In it you will find the dark and the light of love, in a way that will make you think, entertain let you know that you are not alone in life, what ever it holds for you… You can buy ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ by Sandra Peachey, from book websites any where in the world, including on Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…