This year, all the babies born in 1995 turn 30 years old. Most of them will consider this birthday to be a magnificent milestone of maturity, almost like a rite of passage into the prime stage of their lives. Most of their parents will double-check the math, because 1995 was just the other day…. I am one of those parents. Both my beloved eldest daughter, Annie, and my beloved daughter-in-love, Carli, were born in 1995. Carli on this very day and Annie on the very first day of Spring.
I have rewritten this reflection more times than I care to count, because I find it really difficult. Although Carli passed away 38 months and 5 days ago, it is still just as hard for me to write about her as it was when I wrote and delivered her eulogy.
I find myself trying to imagine Carli on her 30th birthday. What would she have looked like today if brain cancer never hijacked her life and maimed her body? Would her hair be long or short, blonde or brunette? Would she have manicured hands and pedicured feet or not? Would she have a large themed costume party or a small intimate dinner party or would she opt for no party at all? I don’t know. In my mind’s eye, I see Daniel’s beautiful barefoot bride, I see Micah’s mindful model mommy and I see the radiance of her cute smile reflected in her sparkling eyes. But… I also remember her tears, her pain, her suffering, her cruel metamorphosis and her sorrow.
Cancer glued Carli and myself together in a beautiful bond, but it also butchered that bond when it slaughtered her. During her last days, we cried while watching sad movies together and I read passages from my new Afrikaans2020 Bible to her. We never got to read all of it and some of the colourful sticky tabs remain in there to this day. Looking back now, I think that Carli would have loved watching The Chosen with me if we had known about it then. She would have shared my disappointment upon learning that Season 5 will not be screened in Bloemfontein movie theatres.
Truth be told, I no longer want to try to imagine what it would be like to have Carli here for her 30th birthday. Carli lives on the perfect side of eternity where her body, mind and spirit have been restored to its original perfection. She does not age anymore. Why would I want to imagine her being here with me waiting for months to see a human actor play Jesus for a few hours while she now spends eternity in the company of real, authentic Jesus? I really, really would not!
Happy forever birthday, dearest beloved Carli!
PS: The 2015 pic of us was taken at a company costume party and the 2021 pic of us was taken at our AssieTribe Secret Santa Christmas Dinner one month before Carli passed away.
Lulu, you had the wisdom to let Carli mourn with the mourning of the terminally ill—all that she would lose: her young son, her husband, the almost unbearable beauty of a normal life with its ups and downs, family get-togethers, hard times to cope with, things to plan and look forward to. How excruciatingly painful it must have been for you to witness Carli’s lovely young face and body being maimed by cancer drugs, and the sparkle in her eyes being dimmed by pain and foreknowledge.
But today, you wrote: “Truth be told, I no longer want to try to imagine what it would be like to have Carli here for her 30th birthday. Carli lives on the perfect side of eternity, where her body, mind, and spirit have been restored to their original perfection. She does not age anymore. Why would I want to imagine her being here with me, waiting for months to see a human actor play Jesus for a few hours while she now spends eternity in the company of real, authentic Jesus? I really, really would not! Happy forever birthday, dearest beloved Carli!”
How powerfully this shows your journey—the Christian journey!—from deepest grief to growing acceptance, not by forgetting the loved one but by embracing the reality of eternal life in Christ. The contrast between earthly longing and heavenly reality you describe constitutes an unhurried shift of mind. Instead of imagining Carli celebrating an earthly birthday, you describe the believer’s growth toward a peace that has no connection at all with inevitable resignation. The perspective that Carli now experiences something infinitely greater than prolonged life on earth is deeply rooted in faith.
Dear Lulu, this is the slowly unfolding closure of biblical faith. One does not remember less; one trusts God’s perfect will more. Thank you for going through so much agony again to bless us with this.
Thank you, Maretha! I am so overwhelmingly touched by your profound insight and compassionate understanding.
Thank you Lulu! This is a heartfelt tribute that beautifully balances grief and hope. It is sad that I only knew Carli when she was already sick…❤️❤️❤️
Thank you, Charles! While it is indeed sad that you didn’t know her before the cancer, your guidance, love and support brought her the hope she needed to transition into eternity and the peace we needed to let her go and stay behind. ❤️