Happy Birthday, T.
I know you'll hate this because I'm throwing a wrench into the rather quiet day you'd want to have. But you're rarely quiet or unnecessarily private in the way you care for the people around you, so it only fits that I return the favour.
You hit the big number today. Not sure how you're feeling, entirely. Probably a mix of gratitude and the kind of grief that comes with growing old. Although I doubt it'll be grief. You're one of the most intentional people I know, so I doubt the previous phases of your life will come with any significant regrets. Except, of course, those you've kept from me. You're good at that.
There's a lot of things I could say about you to the rest of the world. Things they'll probably never believe. You're a walking suite of very interesting contradictions. Your relationship with sardines, clean floors and freshly washed laundry, warm toilet bowls and sliced bread.
But the thing that struck me the most, while flipping through my gallery looking for pictures to post on Instagram, was how you care. Many of us pretend to care. It's the social thing to do. You hate pretence. So when you care, you care deeply. And it's never in the ways people might expect, which is why it feels like the right thing to write about. I saw a video in which you're explaining to my sister and her husband how they should think about an investment proposition. In a matter of minutes, you explained how banks handle interest, why you'd never consider taking a loan from a bank, why they should consider raising money from an investor and why the money might actually be the least important thing in that business relationship. To some, that's just business advice. To me it's a demonstration of how you care. You care in ways that make us all better. In ways that don't always need us to rely on you. Although we'd rather you always be there. Your ability to understand the flow of time, how systems work and the time you spend building systems for my life and that of all those who surround you is probably why you're so special. We've all come to rely on you and trust you. And you know, by the nicknames we give you. The most recent being Tolu AI. But the list is long, and I could spend the rest of this letter going through them. You've created accounting systems, managed projects, supported us in bringing big scary ideas to life, all the while holding an honest light to reality and being a kickass mom. Cooking for us, teaching us, taking the burden off our shoulders whenever you can. It's a difficult thing to do. But you make it look like a piece of cake.
But that's for everyone. I am a primary beneficiary of that care. For a time I missed it. Because I thought care looked different. But as the years have gone by, I've come to appreciate how you look out for me, how you can adjust and adapt to the violent wave that I am, how you're quick to say, "I can handle this" You do you. How you hold me to the things I say. Demand that I speak my intentions clearly. Warn me of the consequences of my actions. I'm better in every regard because of it, and it's probably the best form of care someone like me needs. I was telling our mutual friend a few weeks ago that love only not make sacrifices for the other person, but it also holds a standard that demands that they grow. And oh, how you love me.
I don't know what the next decade will look like. I don't know what your hopes are. Well, maybe a few. I certainly don't know what your fears are; again, you do a great job keeping those from me. But I do know you'll live them with the same intention you've lived the past decades. You'll meet every moment with a smile, candour, warmth, a frown, and a big plate of breakfast.
There are things the world cannot understand
About how you hold a light for all of us
The dawn and stars and sun
Have yet to learn how to shine as you do
Your fears, your hopes, your needs
All are in Yahweh's view
And for the brief moments we get to
For the brief moments I get to
I'll hold a place for your weary eyes
For your wide smiles, strange quirks, and gorgeous mind
For when the sun sets on our numbered days
I'd like to say I knew that girl
She lived, she lived, she loved, she ate a lot of bread
She made the things of casual days
Things of joy and memories kept
She might just be the echo of Yahweh's
Saying, see
I love you all this much
To let you see her live.