Reflections on a birthday

Neve's day, without Neve

Neve, age 10, February 2023. Painted in Ultramarine Blue and Transparent Red watercolours, from The Stoneground Paint Company.

What is a birthday without the proprietrix of the day? 

Immediately after Neve’s death, her eleventh birthday felt as though it belonged to the distant future. There was still more than half of a sun to orbit. Surely, this would give me ample time to absorb the concept of Neve’s birthday, Neveless?

Nevertheless, as the months ticked by, this day began to loom. 

As I pondered her upcoming birthday, I instinctively knew that the word celebrate no longer felt accurate. To be sure, it was still her birthday, this was irrefutable. Neve was born; her birthday marked the arrival of this child who changed our lives. Dying didn’t relegate her birth into irrelevance. But it did reshape the lens through which I viewed that day. Intuitively, I began to see it as a day to mark, rather than a day to celebrate. 

So how to mark a birthday, without the main character in attendance?

I felt drawn to creating ritual, a way to mark the day. It was clear to me that this wouldn’t be a repeat of our usual family birthday rituals. Pain au chocolate for breakfast, birthday cake and candles for later. Those were celebratory traditions and this was not a celebration. 

I spent a long time pondering this. I did have an idea but it was an idea for a fun, enjoyable afternoon. Was it ok to do something nice on Neve’s birthday, without her? What was the alternative; surely nobody would want to join me in creating unpleasant traditions? There was already enough sadness to go around.

I reminded myself that Neve was no longer here. I was not making her sad, because she was unaware of my thoughts and plans. A friend nudged me; don’t forget, she whispered gently, Neve worried so much that she would be forgotten. Marking her birthday in an enjoyable way ensures that she is not forgotten, that she still is a part of our life. 

And so, despite my misgivings, we decided to try out this new plan, this new ritual. A visit to her grave, a trip to a bookshop, the purchase of a book each, then on to a coffee shop, for hot drinks, pastries and reading time. It would not be without its complexities but it seemed right and positive. A part of me felt guilty and maybe always will. But a bigger part of me knows that the alternatives are not right either. This feels like the ultimate in acceptance of a death. It is ok to do nice things without Neve, because she has died.

I was not sure what to expect, emotionally, from Neve’s birthday. Through my reading and conversations with others, I had gathered that birthdays are often sorrowful, after somebody dies. But a part of me wasn’t sure why. Surely it was just another day? It wasn’t as though she would be more dead on that day, compared to the day before or the day after. We had a plan, a nice plan; could it not be an enjoyable day? 

When all was said and done, Neve’s birthday was painful and heartwarming, confusing and beautiful. It was a bittersweet day. I am not surprised that I had not appreciated why this day might be imbued with sorrow. I found it hard enough to understand my own thoughts; our language lacks the words to elucidate how I felt.

Whilst I felt anxiety in the lead up to her birthday and on the day, it was not until I was standing at her graveside that the grief truly hit me. It was only then, seeing the sign that currently marks her grave, that I understood. 

Neve was ten when she died, the sign was clear. So how was it that I was standing there, on her birthday, when she should have been turning eleven? How was this even plausible? What does this mean for Neve now? Is she ten? Is she eleven? Nothing made sense.

Are birthdays only possible when you are alive? 

Up until now, birthdays had always involved ageing, becoming a year older. Does this no longer happen, once you die? A part of me realises this is obvious. Of course you don’t age, once you die. But time continues to tick. The earth continues its circling of the sun, the years continue to go by. It’s as though there is now a disconnect, a division. A day that marks a birthday but no longer marks another year older. 

Where does this leave Neve? I had felt confident telling people that she died at age 10; my daughter Neve is ten and she is dead. But now what? Is she ten? Is she eleven? Do people really want all the details? Will it even make sense? 

“My child died at age ten, but she would have been/should have been/could have been eleven now?”

With this came a striking realisation. I now understood, in vivid clarity. Birthdays are a whole, usually made of two halves; a celebration and a marking.

No matter what, Neve’s birthday will always be a day to mark her birth. But, for me, her birthday is no longer a celebration. She is not a year older, we are not celebrating a child growing and maturing. I had instinctively felt this, before the day itself, when I was drawn to marking rather than celebrating. But I had not fully understood why this was.

Neve, painted in Naphthol Red, Ultramarine Blue, Yellow Ocher, Burnt Umber and Burnt Umber Dark Neutral watercolours, from The Stoneground Paint Company.

Only a day later, this clarity intensified. I took my youngest to a Nick Cope concert. Neve had adored Nick Cope; a lifelong devotion. Yet in another world, by age eleven, she would surely have outgrown his songs. But here we were, surrounded by preschoolers and toddlers, singing along to some of Neve’s favourite tunes. The juxtaposition of an imagined preteen amongst a gaggle of small children. Everything that was Neve will forever remain young. The gap between who Neve was and who she would have been will only increase, year on year. 

I had some inkling of this before Neve died, as her friends grew up and developed and in many ways, she didn’t. But, it’s also not true that she didn’t, because just as her brain and body were unravelling, she was also growing and developing and maturing. But this is now an aspect of the past. She really will never outgrow Nick Cope. Right now, it’s only a slight mismatch. Her peers aren’t too far off of their Nick Cope days. They might still occasionally hum the tunes to their favourite songs, murmuring the lyrics under their breath. But it won’t be long before they are listening to whatever it is that preteens and then teenagers listen to these days. 

It took the stark reality of Neve’s birthday for me to start understanding all of this. 

I still can’t fathom how grief would get easier, as time goes on. The divergence, the Neve sized gap, will continue to grow, as the years pass by. Now the chasm is still relatively narrow; age eleven is hardly much older than age ten. But when it’s 2030 and Neve would have been turning 18, it will be a substantial divergence, a seven year sized Neve gap. 

As the chasm widens and we leave Neve further and further behind, it feels unfathomable that time would lighten my grief. We will still be remembering the child who loved Nick Cope, Tom Gates, Peter Rabbit, and Ladybug as we mark birthdays that might have seen her finishing school, going off to university, becoming a doctor, getting a job, having a family, living her life.

The clarity that Neve’s birthday is now a day to mark her arrival shifts the focus right back to her birth. A looking back, rather than a looking forward. There are no new pictures to see of Neve on her birthday. Instead, my focus can be on the beginning. The beginning of her life, of the light that she brought to this world. A time to revisit the very early pictures of Neve, minutes old. To remember the joy and the pain of birthing another baby, to recall the oxytocin haze that filled the room, in the hours after her birth. To reminisce about a decade of birthdays, of cakes and pain au chocolat, of bouncing curls and feisty grins.

Book, hot drink and pastry; a new ritual to mark Neve’s birthday. Painted in Cotman watercolours, from Winsor & Newton. Prussian Blue, Indigo, Payne’s Grey, Permanent Rose, Raw Umber and Burnt Umber.

Our new rituals to mark this day feel as important as birthday cake to celebrate a birthday. Neve’s birthday will always be the day that she joined our family, the day she began her decade of life. This day will no doubt be painful evermore, as we mark another year of the gap, the disconnect with who Neve was and who she would have been. The book buying and coffee shop visiting won’t dull this pain but perhaps they will allow us a routine, a way to mark and to remember Neve.

Even if I still don’t feel totally sure that she would approve of us doing this without her.

Newborn Neve, November 2012. Painted in Ultramarine Blue and Burnt Umber watercolours, from The Stoneground Paint Company.