“You Need To Celebrate Your Birthday Even If Your Dad Dies!” What a weird headline… but it’s also a chapter in a book that I am apparently writing. Yup, this is my Chapter 26.
Johannesburg, South Africa (11 January 2023) – My good friend Mandy Wiener has been on my case for years about writing a book. Yes, me, writing a book. A whole flipping book. It’s so daunting thinking about the time and effort it takes to write… I don’t know… 90,000 words spread across 30 Chapters?!
So I decided to write just a few… just one chapter in what will hopefully, one day, come to be a story about “Becoming the Good Things Guy” and how the good things were instilled in me… way before the publication was even conceived.
Mandy and I have been friends for years; I even feature on her talk show every Friday on 702, where I bring some good news to end the week. We often have coffee or lunch and discuss our lives, work, the state of South Africa and everything in between.
And every time “the book” pops up.
Mandy has written six or seven books now, many of them best-sellers, so I know I need to listen to her but writing a book is no easy feat. And the thought of it is incredibly intimidating.
I’ve interviewed many authors. Some have gone on writing retreats to get it done. Some have mapped out the entire concept on a massive board and started from there, chipping away at it every single day. Others have spent the early hours of the morning, while their entire house is asleep, putting pen to paper. And some have just winged it and written a little here and there until they have a whole book in their hands.
I didn’t know where to start.
I write an average of 3,000 words a day… good news articles, stories of the good people in South Africa and good things happening all around us. But I write about other people, so writing about myself feels like an arduous task.
But somehow I did it.
I’ve finally written my first chapter and think I am ready to share it with the world. I didn’t start at the beginning of “my story” and it took some time but I actually did it.
Side note: This is a first draft – an editor hasn’t even looked at this yet – and it’s only one chapter but I hope this helps you in some way. Even though writing this was tough, I feel like sharing this chapter in my life with you is also me letting it go, ever so slightly, allowing myself to heal from the grief I carry around with me every single day. And it might do the same for you.
This is my chapter 26.
You Need To Celebrate Your Birthday Even If Your Dad Dies!
My Dad died four days before my birthday. On the 12th of January 2011. How selfish right? He died, and I am relating it to my birthday. Well, he did, and I am… because that’s what happened.
The love of my life died four days before my birthday.
My Dad had always been my hero and could hardly do wrong in my eyes, but we had drifted and been on two very separate paths for many years, living in different lanes almost parallel to each other. We had become estranged because I never had the courage to tell him that I was gay, a silly notion when I look back now. At his funeral, a friend of his walked up to me and told me that my dad had always known. He loved me and my being gay didn’t change that. He was just waiting for me to tell him. He believed that telling him was part of my journey. He felt that it was an important step in my own growth.
Good God, I would give anything to have that conversation with him now.
Any conversation, actually.
He had gone to Mozambique in December 2010 for the Christmas holidays, and from what I would hear later, he had the best time of his life.
Mozambique is South Africa’s best-kept secret. And I say ‘South Africa’ because even though it’s an entirely different country, we take ownership of it with every holiday opportunity we can get. With its pristine white-sand beaches that stretch as far as the eye can see and tropical blue water that hardly cools you down in 40-degree heat, to the famous rum and raspberries that are served like cool-drink. And the food, good grief, the food can only be described as some of the best in the world. Eating prawns while wiggling your toes in the hot sand, all while watching another beautiful African sunset, is how I would like to spend any and every day.
So we’ll take ownership of Mozambique and flock down over Easter and to escape the Winter and over Christmas and every opportunity we get to go, in droves, and eat and drink and swim and bask in the summer sun.
We’ll take all of Mozambique.
Except for the Mosquitos and the Malaria they carry.
We tend not to acknowledge that or the fact that perhaps the medicine made to stop Malaria does, in fact, stop it.
Before my Dad was diagnosed with the parasitical disease, I believed Malaria was not a South African problem. I thought it was only a problem for the little kid we see in the “beware of Malaria” posters. I also believed that the medicine masked the symptoms, gave you nightmares and made you sicker… because that is what we tell each other. Hindsight is a very humbling thing, and I can tell you now that all my beliefs were wrong. So very wrong. I guess my Dad’s beliefs were the same as mine, as he had made a conscious decision not to take the life-saving tablets. He was there in the height of summer, the rainy season, and he didn’t believe he needed anything to protect him from one of the world’s deadliest killers.
The Malaria Report of 2011 will go on to state that 655,000 people died of Malaria that year… and one of those deaths was my Dad.
He got back to Joburg and was absolutely fine. Or was he? I can’t remember. That week was such a blur. I know that he went to the Doctor on the Monday, was admitted to ICU on Tuesday and died on Wednesday. Just like that. He was here and then he was gone.
I got to see him on the Tuesday. My family and I spent most of the afternoon and evening at the hospital but the reality of the situation never really sunk in. There was no way that he wouldn’t bounce back from this! I’d never heard of anyone dying from Malaria. What a silly thought. It’s just mosquitos.
I went to work the next day. I believed he would be okay. At around 3pm, my mom phoned. Somehow, I knew immediately. I just knew. I answered the phone and she was sobbing. The words weren’t coming out properly but I knew. And then she said it.
“Your dad is gone. I am so sorry Brent. Your dad is gone.”
My knees went weak, and I forgot to breathe. I could feel my eyes moving from left to right, rapidly looking for a solution, trying to understand what I had just heard. Trying to process death. I was looking for someone to hold me, to help me, to save me, but I was alone. He was gone and I was alone. All I could hear was my mom sobbing on the other side of the phone. I will never forget that sound. I fell to the floor, begging for the ground to swallow me whole. I just sat there. My hands scraping at the ground to try to open it up to swallow me. To take me away from all of this.
I tried to find a solution. But there was none.
He was gone.
And I was alone.
In that one split second, my whole world shifted, and I knew I would never be the same. In that moment, I knew that I had changed.
Andrew picked me up from work and drove me to the hospital. It was peak hour traffic, so the drive took twice as long. My emotions were all over the place. I moved from utter heartbreak to anger and numbness, and hate, and disbelief, and a sadness that words can’t really define.
Indistinct. Loud. Undefined. Broken. Sadness.
My entire family was at the hospital. We were all in shock. We comforted each other. And held each other. And were there for each other. We were all still so confused. How did this all happen? Why did this happen? What was actually happening?
The next few days were such a blur. Sometimes I was awake and sometimes I was asleep. Sometimes I was both. I spent days oscillating between my house, banks, home affairs, my mom’s house, the lawyer’s office, funeral homes, and my Dad’s house. His stuff was just there. Untouched. I could still smell him in every room. But everything was untouched. He was gone. And I was in so much pain.
Jamie Anderson writes that grief is just love with nowhere else to go. And I was learning the truth in this.
“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”
I was in so much pain.
I really love birthdays. They are one of the best days in the world. An entire 24 hours dedicated to celebrating you! How special is that? But this birthday would be different. I had made it clear to everyone that I would not be celebrating this year. How on earth do you celebrate something four days after your Dad has died?
I woke up on the 16th of January to coffee and birthday cake and presents. Andrew had been so strong in my grief. I’m actually not sure how he did it. He was so sad for me but he kept smiling, he propped me up and made sure that I knew that I was loved and protected and looked after. He held my heartbreak with such tenderness. One of my birthday presents was a dinner that night. He told me that he wanted to celebrate me, and even though it would be difficult, I needed to celebrate too.
I agreed. With a lot of persuasion. But I agreed. Reluctantly.
Driving to the restaurant was awful. I really didn’t want to go and looking back now, I was only really doing this for Andrew. It’s what he wanted. So I was doing it.
I didn’t realize at first that the longest table in the restaurant was filled with all my friends. My mind was so preoccupied that I totally missed a whole table of my loved ones. They had all come to support me, to celebrate me and to serve as a reminder to me, how lucky I am to be alive. That even in my heartache, I am still here. Good grief, I sobbed when I finally realised. I cried because I felt so loved.
Even though the last four days had been utter hell, I let it go and concentrated on being present in that moment. That dinner. My birthday. There were some tears when I thought of my Dad but the entire evening was spent chatting, and eating, and drinking, and laughing, and being with my friends, and loving.
All that unspent love was finding a place to go.
At some point in the evening, someone convinced me that going “clubbing” was a good idea. A friend, who wasn’t drinking offered to drive us and I gladly accepted. I think I may have cried a little on “Babylons” dance floor but I landed up having the best time. My Dad loved music, and dancing, and drinking, and being with friends, and celebrating life.
And by doing all of these things, it kinda felt like I was spending time with him.
When the clock struck midnight and my birthday was finally over, I made a call that it was time to go home. I had celebrated and was so thankful that I had been persuaded to go. My cup was overflowing but I was done for the day. I fell asleep in the backseat on the way home – this is my party trick – and was rudely awoken round the corner from our house. There was shouting, and flashlights and total confusion. Three massive policemen had stopped us and were aggressively shouting questions and statements at us.
“Where were you??? Where are you coming from??? Has the driver been drinking??? Did you buy drugs??? Where are the drugs??? Get out of the car!!! All of you OUT THE CAR!!!!
Our driver had not been drinking and we had not taken, nor did we have any drugs. I had however consumed a lot of tequila and the officers could clearly see that I was the most inebriated of all of us in the car. They pulled me about 20 meters away from everyone else for “questioning”. It was all really quite bizarre. The officer was really angry and was shouting things at me, asking me the same questions. It was just all too much for me.
The next thing I knew, I started scream-crying (if that’s a thing). I was yelling at the top of my lungs while crying.
“My dad has just died, and I was forced to go out on my birthday, and I don’t do drugs, but I did drink a lot. AND MY DAD DIED.”
“I really didn’t want to celebrate but I went anyway, and it actually turned out to be a good night, and even though my dad has died, I had somehow found a moment of happiness and I actually somehow had fun but YOU have ruined it all. YOU HAVE DESTROYED THAT MOMENT!!!! YOU BROKE MY BIRTHDAY! YOU’VE JUST TAKEN SOMETHING ELSE AWAY FROM ME?!? MY DAD IS DEAD!!!!!”
I’m sure the words may have differed a little so don’t quote me verbatim (I had drank a lot of tequila) but I definitely said something along those lines, if not more. The shocked officer stood there for a second with his mouth open… and then hugged me. Yes, he proceeded to hug me.
He apologised for my Dad’s death. He also said that they were trying to catch a drug dealer in the area who had been seen on that road the last couple of nights but that didn’t matter as he wanted to know more about my Dad, and more importantly about my birthday night out.
My sadness must have struck something in him because all of a sudden, we were just two people chatting about grief, and heartbreak, and celebrating your birthday, even though my dad died. We had found commonality in our grief. In our unspent love. We spoke for almost 10 minutes while the other officers continued searching the car. Andrew and my friend watched from a distance, with concern for my well-being. They had no idea I had just made a new friend.
The other officers shouted to him that they had found nothing and so we ended our conversation and walked back towards the car like two best friends.
The officers then told us to avoid that road in the future and to drive home safely. They all wished me happy birthday and we all drove away.
It was all truly bizarre.
I woke up the next morning and couldn’t stop smiling. The lovely dinner. My incredible friends. My phenomenal family. A reminder that I wasn’t alone. Dancing “with” my dad. Finding a place for that unspent love to go. Oh, and that officer’s face when I was scream-crying. Shame. My dad would have found that so funny. But the conversation we had after all the commotion was really beautiful.
I thought about what I had been through in the last couple of days and knew that it had changed me. I understood that the rest of my life would be fueled by heartbreak. A piece of me will always be missing and sadness will now always be by my side.
But I also realised that I needed to learn to find happiness in all my moments.
The good and the bad moments. I needed to see things through a different lens. One crafted with love. I needed to learn to still celebrate, even when it feels tough to do so. I was just 26 years old with a whole entire life ahead of me. I knew that the greatest of moments were still to come and yes, there would be many more sad ones. There will be ups and downs, and shouting, and laughing, and crying, and dancing, and death, and birthdays, and so much more. Sometimes all in the same month, week or day.
I think the most important thing those four days taught me, was that happiness and love work hand in hand and sometimes when we have a little extra that is “unspent”… then we need to find a place for it to go.
That’s how we celebrate birthdays even when a loved one dies. That’s how we deal with heartbreak and keep love alive.
We share that unspent love and happiness with others.
by 