Today, 5 November, is my father's birthday. Although he passed away earlier this year, I still say "is" because it is. It’s no different to me than when he was alive, other than, of course, not being able to be near him or spend hours on the phone for a birthday call. I say today is my dad's birthday instead of "would have been" because it’s still a day to celebrate him and remember his unique spirit, positive attitude, and way of seeing the world. Today, I buy cake, ice cream, and his favorite snacks in his memory and honor -- it's a birthday, not a funeral. While it’s sad in many ways that he's not here physically, he lives on in me. As I wrote for his funeral when he passed…
Every time I laugh, he is laughing too. Every time I smile, it is him smiling too. Every hockey game I watch, he will be watching too. Every walk I go on, he will be walking alongside me.
He will forever be the primary assist on every goal I make.
He will be with me every moment of everyday because he is me, and I am him. I live because of him. I will do great things because of him. I will continue to make him proud. I will share the love he continues to pass on to me.
My Dad and I were best friends, sharing so much in common, especially in how we saw the world. He was the greatest teacher and mentor I ever had. The older I get, the more I recognize even more similarities between us -- in how we live, approach challenges, and view life. He taught me many things, including the importance of always saving copies of data and photos, backing everything up multiple times. Since he worked data / IT (coincidentally a lot like myself), I took this to heart and have done it religiously. It’s one of the best habits I’ve kept because now I have every picture, video, and moment saved. I have albums with hundreds of photos of my Dad, and videos where I can hear his voice and his laugh anytime I want. It’s been the greatest gift and helps me still feel close to him.
Shortly after he passed, I found a USB drive where he had backed up his own data and phone. Going through his photos, I realized his camera roll looked almost identical to mine; endless pictures of nature, animals, sunrises, sunsets, and clouds that looked like familiar things. It was the photo album of a guy who was just happy, happy to be experiencing the world and whatever the day brought. That’s probably my favorite thing about him: even as he faced health issues, he kept a child-like curiosity, always noticing the small wonders of the world, a lot like me.
I remember one of the last times I saw him in the hospital. It was a loud, uncomfortable unit, always too hot or too cold, with lots of people around but when I walked in, he was smiling as big as ever. I’d ask him what made him so happy, and it was always something simple: the sun shining, watching a hockey game, or getting an extra cookie (which he, being so generous, quickly offered to me).
I'm sure he had moments of fear and worry, who wouldn’t in a hospital?, but he kept going with positivity, focusing on the little things. He always found a silver lining and even tried to help others in the hospital, despite being a patient himself. For him, it was about making the best of each day. No matter the challenges, he’d find something to smile about. There could be a million bad things, but if he could find one thing to be happy about, it was a good day. That’s a big reason I don’t complain much myself. Sure, I have complaints like anyone, but as he taught me, the energy spent on “why me” is better used to find something good. Sometimes you have to look hard, but like the many puzzles he loved doing during long Canadian winters, no challenge was too great. There’s always something good to find. He had a unique type of Sisu, a determination to keep going but also keep enjoying and being happy.
Like myself, my Dad absolutely loved nature, traveling, and experiencing life and the world. He was so excited and proud when I made it to Finland last November and December. Over Christmas, I showed him all the pictures I took in Finland, he loved every one, and genuinely loved hearing about my adventures. The nature, Ilves Tampere, Northern Lights, everything. I gave him a copy of the Ilta-Sanomat I was featured in along with a bunch of other Finnish flyers and magazines to read. He loved newspapers and flyers, so this was a real highlight as I sat with him and translated the Finnish.
He was the first, and for quite a while, the only person I told about my plans to move to Finland. He was so thrilled to hear it, and I could see how proud he was. He knew it was going to be the adventure of a lifetime for me. He didn’t question it once; he saw what I saw in Finland and understood my instant love for it. That’s why, in Finland, I feel closer to him than anywhere else. On morning walks in the forest, I can truly feel him with me in spirit, and as I continue to explore and build a life here, I know he’s still supporting me, guiding me, and looking out for me. I rarely talk about myself and my accomplishments, but moving to Finland and now creating jobs and opportunities here is one of the things I’m most proud of. In that, I know he’s proud of me too.
When I said, “My Dad will be with me every moment of every day because he is me, and I am him. I live because of him. I will do great things because of him. I will continue to make him proud. I will share the love he continues to pass on to me,” it was more than just words. It was a pledge and a promise to keep going, to keep living as he would, to keep his spirit alive. It’s a promise to look back and remember him, but also to keep looking forward and create an exciting, meaningful life, and to never forget to find something to smile about.
Happy Birthday Dad, I love you.
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