Birthdays
Today, April 7th, is Julie-Rae’s birthday. She would have been 32.
Birthdays, anniversaries, Fridays, there are an endless number of dates and days that have had their significance or impact twisted by the events of the last year and half.
When someone dies, each ‘first’ is particularly challenging. The first time you sleep alone, the first time you make dinner for yourself, the first time you do laundry for one etc. Each of these feel hollow and weird, like you’re suddenly out of practice and have been left unprepared. However, these firsts quickly become seconds, thirds, fourths… Eventually, you do them so regularly that they get redefined and a new norm is created. They still feel empty, but less unfamiliar and more predictable.
Important dates don’t follow this pattern. Or, perhaps they do, but the time scale in which they go through this change is greater than I have yet to experience. Since Julie died, there’ve been two of her birthdays. I’ve had two birthdays. There’s been one anniversary of her death. They haven’t had the time to become ‘normal’ or familiar. They’re still shocking and disorientating. I’ve cooked dinner for myself hundreds of times since she died, I have ‘celebrated’ her birthday twice.
Birthdays in particular hit hard. These were days that used to be filled with joy. Days that were exclusively for the other person. I shamelessly used to love my birthday. I think I’d be characterised as a fairly humble person who doesn’t particularly like being the centre of attention, but I loved that I had one day a year where you were essentially allowed, and encouraged to be, the focus.
A long running joke between us was that Julie was a terrible gift giver, while I was an exceptionally good one (one of the very few areas that I could claim the crown). Each year, bless her, she’d try and do something different or considerate and would always end up whiffing it at the final stretch. Things wouldn’t be ordered correctly, I would end up buying it for myself and she’d have to come up with some convoluted reason why I really should return it etc. etc. However, on my 29th birthday, the last one we’d spend together, she knocked it out of the park. COVID obviously limited her ability to go to stores or find an ‘experience’ based gift but, on the morning of my birthday, she presented me with a custom apron complete with a bespoke ‘logo’ and my name stitched into it. As someone who adores baking and would regularly end up flour covered, I truly could not have asked for a better gift.
However, what Julie was exceptional at when it came to birthdays, was birthday cards. Each year I (and various friends) would receive a hand made, personalised and intricate birthday card that reflected my interests and demonstrated the beauty of her creativity. They were, and still are, my pride and joy. That someone would put that much effort into creating something exclusively for me for no other reason than because they thought I deserved it was incredible.
I still have those cards, and for the past two birthdays I’ve had without her, they come out of their box and I read through them. They talk of her joy at the idea of spending our lives together and her excitement for our wedding. They are her joy and boundless creativity captured on paper. I have memories of her tucked into the corner over her crafting table, shooing me away every time I tried to sneak a look, that brings me that warm sadness each time I hold them.
Now my birthday rings hollow. Yes, friends and family make it a special day and I am surrounded by love, but Jules is so noticeably missing. There no longer is that one dedicated person who shares the day with you and makes it all about you. It was always hard to feel deserving of being on the receiving end of such a clear expression of her love towards me, but seeing someone put so much effort into making a day special just for you, because they loved you and cared for you and, to them, you were worth every ounce of their effort, that was magic.
Widowhood is constantly a double edged sword, as not only do you lose your partner, but you also lose being a partner. Not only did I lose the person who would invest their time into making a day special for me, I lost the person for whom I loved celebrating and making feel special.
As I said earlier, there have now only been two of her birthdays since her death and therefore there’s nothing that’s familiar yet. I have made a concentrated effort to continue to recognize and ‘celebrate’ her birthday. The day defaults to sadness, so I’ve focused on trying to ensure some joy and festivities continue to exist in her honour.
This mostly involves food.
Today, I had planned on going to the cemetery, and honestly, I can’t really think of a reasonable explanation why beyond, ‘it just feels like the right thing to do’. However, because the world seems to be scheming against me, the cemetery is closed on her actual birthday this year because of passover. Even when I attempt to make sad-plans, the universe decides that’s a bit too comfortable for its liking. One meal has also been dedicated (ideally with friends) to Julie’s all-time favourite food (and my competitor for her heart), pasta.
The other thing we do, not necessarily on the day itself but around the general period, is connected to how this blog got its name.
For Julie’s 28th birthday a large group of us gathered to eat dumplings at a dim sum restaurant downtown. During this meal, we came to the conclusion that dumplings might be the all time best food type. Every culture seemed to have their variation on a dumpling and they all seemed tasty. And so the idea for the greatest dinner party of all time, Dumplings of the World, was sparked (early iterations called it Dumpling Barmitzvah but this was quickly dropped for inclusivity purposes).
Unfortunately, COVID got in the way and we were never able to realize Dumplings of the World with Julie present. During one of the intensely tumultuous days of Shiva (stay tuned for a post on ‘traditions’ surrounding death) at my place, we all sorta felt the weight of that lost memory and endeavoured to actualize it in her honour.
On April 9th, 2022, two days after what would have been Julie’s 31st birthday, we gathered to eat dumplings from all over the world. We laughed, we reminisced, and we ate. I took a photo of the spread, which our blue-tick verified friend Michal tweeted. We went viral.
The tweet the broke the internet (and our chat group). Michal would also like you to know she was blue-tick verified before Elon started making it a paid ‘privilege’.
Dumplings 2.0
Now, there was nothing about Jules in this tweet, but it brought me a lot of comfort knowing that an event hosted in her honour had been spread far and wide, and seen by over 9 million people. It clearly brought joy to others, they just didn’t know who they owed that to.
The dumpling tradition has continued. Last Saturday 15 of us all gathered again for Dumplings 2.0 and stuffed our faces one more time, because that is exactly what Jules would have wanted us to do.
Birthdays suck and will always be a difficult period for me, but (as has become a bit of a running theme with these posts) reinventing them with new traditions that honour her memory makes them a bit easier to stomach, even if that stomach is fit to burst with dim sum.
P.S. My aforementioned talented friend, Michal, wrote a beautiful essay around Jules and Dumplings of the World that was published in a Dumpling Anthology (yes, such a thing exists). Should you be interested, you can purchase it here or at other non-local options