There is something about March. It is very personal and full of sharp contrasts. I spend much time reflecting as it approaches.
It was not always like this.
March marks the anniversary of the passing of our beloved elder sister, Maxine. She was 66. Bubbly. Full of life. A woman who still had so much living left to do. Cancer does not only take a life; it also interrupts futures. It silences laughter that should still be echoing around family tables and at celebrations.
On 1 March, we purposefully paused to remember Maxine’s passing five years ago. On that very same day, we three sisters, in two different cities, attended the unveiling of the stone (also called a consecration) of both our cousin and of our aunt, one on our late mom’s side, the other on our late dad’s side. These three women, each remarkable, left behind family and friends who carry their own stories of loss, coupled with beautiful memories. The 7th of March marked another significant day; our dad Hymie passed away in 2010, aged 86, with less quality of life in his later years. Some might say perhaps not unexpected but , nevertheless, deeply painful for his family.
Thankfully, over the years the family has gathered for high holy holidays, weddings, reunions, birthdays etc. Yet it has often felt as though the space where our beloved family members left a gap simply could not be filled, including our late mom Jeannette, who passed away just short of her 93rd birthday.
And woven into this very same month is my birthday. I love birthdays! Anyone who knows me knows that.
Birthdays in our family have always been significant. Our mom had a way of turning them into small productions. Streamers and balloons would mysteriously appear overnight. She would sneak into our bedrooms, convinced she had fooled us as we lay “asleep,” waiting for the grand surprise that awaited us in the morning.
I believe that sense of joy and ritual has lived on through Desray’s two daughters and, also, through Renée’s two daughters-in-law. Celebration remains part of our family’s DNA.
March also holds a wedding anniversary for me. Another milestone that deserves acknowledgement.
And so, March has become multi-layered. It has asked something new of me.
How do you celebrate when feeling a sense of loss?
How do you embrace joy and continue to smile without feeling disloyal to grief?
And guilt. It’s a big one.
I recognise that grief and happiness do, and must, coexist, sitting side by side at the same table. Yet there is always someone missing.
You can miss someone so much and still laugh.
You can celebrate your own birthday and still feel absence.
You can always be your mom and dad’s “baby,” as the 4th born even though you are a grown woman in your 50s. It’s okay.
In the work Daughters on Loan does, a lot of which is walking alongside families through ageing, illness, and change, this sense of duality feels familiar. We may see celebration in hospital rooms and tears on birthdays. We witness love expressed in practical, everyday acts of care.
I do not think life separates joy from sorrow. We do that. Perhaps we need not. Swings and merry-go-rounds, ups and downs.
There is no right or wrong here. Simply individual ways of managing daily life. Time heals, not for everyone, but possibly for many. The ache may soften. Random thoughts may still bring tears. Yet some memories can make us laugh out loud.
Our days can be complex and emotional. Many families are navigating ageing, illness, memory loss, recovery, and sometimes goodbyes. We see people going about their everyday lives while carrying a heaviness, sometimes questioning why they are still here. We are often immersed in this, forming close bonds as companions and assistants.
March simply reminds me that care is not only practical. Sometimes it holds both delight and despair. It is about understanding that life does not come in neat compartments.
As I reflect, I realize that in our personal and working lives, we are called to honour the celebrations, the loss, the grief and everything in between. Care can often simply mean not removing sorrow but simply sitting beside it while still making space for joy.
