Nigel would’ve been 60

Today my Nigel would’ve turned 60, another number that, like last year’s, underscores that we never got the chance to grow old together. That’s still my greatest sadness, not merely because I miss sharing life with him, but also because we lost our future, too—and I lost my future, too. I still haven’t found a replacement for the future that should've been, and I don't know when I will. All of that is front of mind at this time of year.

Last year I wrote about the thing about all this that really is funny to me:

This year, I’m particularly pissed-off. When I turned 59, Nigel often said to me, “Fuck you’re old!” and, “I can’t believe I’m going to be married to a SIXTY year old.” I was very much looking forward to returning the favour this year. However, he’d of course have already started his new jokes at my birthday this past January, with an updated, “Fuck you’re really old!”, and this year he’d have added, “I can’t believe I’m going to be married to a SUPERANNUITANT!”, using a somewhat old-fashioned term for “pensioner” one that he would’ve used precisely because it was old-fashioned: He would’ve felt it underscored me being old. I would’ve pretended to be annoyed and said to him, “Not yet!” every time he said that, just like I did when I turned 59. And we would both have thought that what we were saying this year was hilarious.

I’ve joked about that several times in the year since then, and each time it made me smile. Actually, most of memories of him, and us, and our life together, make me smile. As I also said last year:

And that’s the thing: For me, this grief journey isn’t about being sad and crying all the time, not anymore. Instead, it’s about remembering him, smiling, and laughing at our lame jokes.

To be clear, I think about him every single day, and sometimes I definitely cry, but now I’m far more likely to either be laughing, or maybe thinking about what he would do about something I’m trying to figure out, or I maybe imagine the great discussions we’d have had about the issues of the day, like, for example, he would’ve loved watching the recent Democratic National Convention and talking about it afterward. That sort of thinking makes me feel like I’m getting a warm hug.

Still, I knew this year would be trying for me. First, I had my 65th birthday back in January, and I knew it would be hard on me to reach a fuck, I’m old age without him there to make me laugh about it—and, especially, to reassure me that everything would be okay. That’s why I went to Fiji with family back in January, to do something so utterly different from anything I’d ever done for my birthday, including going to a country that he and I never visited together (that also now mean I've celebrated my birthday three countries, something that Nigel never got to experience, managing only two, as I had until this year).

The second challenge was today, and not just because I never got to tease him about getting old, but more because he never got the chance to get old, and I wanted so damn much to grow old with him. Again, it’s that lost shared future.

The final big anniversary this year will be in a few short weeks when we arrive at the fifth anniversary of his death (how is that even possible?!!!). I won’t speculate on how I’ll feel when that date rolls around, however, each of these dates has become easier every year, so I think—think?—it’ll be basically okay.

Against all that, though, I’ve also had a lot additional stress around applying for my superannuation (NZ government retirement benefit), something that’s been a big—no, huge—topic all on its own, and one I’ll need to discuss in a separate post. However, today I received my first full payment, and in my mind, it was absolutely appropriate that my first full payment should begin on Nigel’s birthday, almost as if, even now, he’s still talking care of me. And who am I to say that he isn’t?

This year, like last year, I went out for lunch with the Hamilton family who were in town, something that was my mother-in-law’s idea. Last year, we went to Saints Public House (a place I’ve blogged about before), and I amused myself thinking that Nigel would’ve joked that it was appropriate for us to go to a place with that name because he was such a saint all his life. However, this year I chose Thai for lunch because it was among his favourite cuisines, and it was what we often did for our birthdays when we lived on Auckland’s North Shore, so I felt having Thai food was the perfect way to celebrate his 60th.

So much has changed even since his birthday last year, and there are so many changes yet to come. Carrying him in my heart and in my memories continues to give me warmth when I’m cold, and comfort when I feel none. What we had isn’t entirely gone, it’s the foundation on which I’m slowly building whatever my future life will be, and that’s no small thing. Still, I'd much rather have him. Of course.

And, yeah, fuck he’d be old this year!

Happy Birthday, sweetheart. Always.

Previously:

Nigel would’ve been 59 (2023)
Nigel would’ve been 58 (2022)
Nigel would’ve been 57 (2021)
Surviving the day and being okay (A 2021 post on how I handled his birthday)
We celebrated Nigel’s birthday (About the party in 2020)
It won’t be a good day (2020 – the first birthday after he died)

Special Note: I didn’t talk about Nigel’s birthday on this blog while he was alive because I wanted to protect him, and so, I didn’t share stuff that was personal to him. I talk about it now because I have no way of knowing who may run across my posts, and maybe they'll help someone else in a situation similar to mine. Besides, I love talking about the most important person in my adult life.