Today is 아빠's 65th Birthday.
How do we celebrate a life without the living?
Hi friends,
Today is 아빠’s 65th birthday.
He would have turned 65 today.
He has missed two birthdays since he left this world.
In Korean tradition, when a person dies, their death day becomes their birthday.
Influenced by Buddhist beliefs, Koreans view a person’s death day as their birth into the new world. The day is viewed less as a day of celebration, and more as a day of remembrance of our loved ones and their significant impact on our lives. The first time I heard about this tradition was in September 2018 — 엄마 told me when we were in Korea visiting 할아버지’s grave for the first time. We were in Korea because 할머니 was dying and we needed to say goodbye.
The last time we were in Korea before this was in 2014 — we were saying goodbye to 할아버지.
“기일이 생일이 되는 거야.”
Our family will always observe 아빠’s birthday, and we will always observe his death day. For me, today is one of the hardest days of the year.
How do we celebrate 아빠’s life on a day that holds such massive grief?
How do we celebrate 아빠’s birthday without him?
When someone dies, every holiday and special day becomes incredibly painful for the ones who are left behind, but their birthday and death day are the hardest days to endure.
Today, I’m reminded of all of his past birthdays.
아빠 was born on Thursday, June 30, 1960, in Pyeongtaek, Korea. He was the fourth child of the family, with two older sisters and one older brother. The Korean War was paused with a stalemate on June 25, 1953 — seven years later, he was born.
할머니 carried, nurtured, and grew 아빠 in her body for nine and a half months, from September to June. She named him 승현 — 고승현, Ko Seung Hyun. It was incredibly hot on the day he was born. There was no air conditioning in Korea back then, so it was an incredibly grueling birth and delivery.
Birth is a miracle. 아빠 was a miracle.
할머니 labored for hours bringing little 승현이 into the world. His birthday, 65 years ago, was a day of celebration — for his family, his neighborhood, and his community. His life brought hope, joy, and love into the world. 할머니 cherished him.
In 2017, on his 57th birthday, Greg and I put up birthday decorations in our Virginia home. At around 7:00 pm, 아빠 pulled into the driveway after working at the dry cleaners all day. When Greg and I saw him pulling in, we turned off all the lights and hid. When he opened the door, we surprised him by blasting “Gangnam Style” on the televsion, we strobe-lit the overhead lights, and I carried a cake and candles to him. We sang happy birthday to him and he blew out his candles. He and Greg made homemade 탕수육 together. We bought him a 떡 cake.
I will never forget the look on his face — his massive smile, his laughter, his look of absolute surprise. He felt remembered. He felt known. He felt loved.
In 2020, on his 60th birthday, we bought him a 떡 cake from Annandale 떡집 that read “축 회갑” — congratulations on your 60th birthday. We all wore golden glitter paper crowns. We sang songs on kazoos. We bought him a piñata, hung it from the deck, and had him hit it blindfolded with a 검도 sword. 엄마 was preparing food inside while Greg, 아빠, and I took turns hitting the piñata. When 아빠 was swinging at it, we kept pulling it up out of his reach. He finally busted it open and candy flew everywhere. He wanted me to show Greg how good I was at 검도, so I put on my 검도 uniform for the first time since high school and taught Greg some basic 검도 skills. 아빠 filmed me the entire time — laughing, excited, filled with joy and pride. We ate 삼겹살, we sang 생일 축하합니다, and he blew his candles out on a cake from Shilla Bakery.
In 2021, on his 61st birthday, we went mini-golfing in Manassas at The Magic Putting Place. It was brutally hot that day. I made a hole-in-one and 아빠 took a picture of me holding the ball up at the hole. 아빠 won. We all bought ice cream afterwards, from Nathan’s Dairy Bar, a nearby, local ice cream shop. We came home and ate 삼겹살, we sang 생일 축하합니다, and he blew his candles out on his fruit and almond cake from Whole Foods.
In 2023, on his 63rd birthday, we met with his neuro-oncologist and went over his brain MRI results. We laughed hysterically before the doctor came in — I changed the call photo for 엄마 to a hilarious one where she looked irritated that he was taking a picture of her. We found out 아빠’s cancer had spread to his brain stem, his cerebellum, and had likely also spread throughout his spine. This was the birthday we found out he was going to die. I couldn’t bring myself to celebrate his birthday after the appointment — 엄마 and I got into a huge fight about it, but we were really just devastated by the news we had just received. On the following day, July 1, we lit his candles on his cake, we put on party hats, we blew party horns, and I cried singing happy birthday to him for what I feared would be the last time. It was.
Last year, 아빠’s birthday fell on a Sunday. He would have been 64 years old. I wasn’t talking to 엄마. We had an intimate gathering with a few friends in our Brooklyn apartment. We ate 삼겹살, we sang 생일 축하합니다, and I made a wish and blew out his candles on a berry chantilly cake from Whole Foods that our family always gets for our birthdays. I was supremely pregnant, at the beginning of my third trimester. I was full of grief.
This year, his birthday is falling on a Monday. 엄마 is with us in New York — she’s been here for two weeks. We will decorate our home with birthday decorations. We will go on a walk around the park — 아빠 loved being active and he loved being outside. We will eat 삼겹살. The four of us will make a wish and blow all of the candles out on 아빠’s berry chantilly cake together. We are still full of grief.
Yesterday, at the end of my morning walk around the park, I was doing squats while waiting for 엄마 to finish her walk, and while I was standing in the center of the park entrance facing Grand Army Plaza, I saw a hawk in the sky. It was flying around with a sparrow and a pigeon flying in its path. And then, I saw another hawk. Two giant hawks were flying around above me, and I knew it was 아빠.
아빠 has been sending us hawks since he started dying, in the summer of 2023. The first one we saw was on a tree in front of my parents’ home in Tysons Corner.
I wish 아빠 could come back for just one more birthday. I want to tell him everything that has happened in our lives over the last year and a half.
I want to tell him we had the baby he always wanted us to have. I want him to hold Haejoon. I want to watch him play with Haejoon. I want to hug him. I want to hold his face. I want to hear him laugh. I want to see his smile. I want to watch him eat. I want to see his face light up when he sees 엄마. I want to watch him annoy her. I want to watch him golf. I want to look into his eyes. I want to tell him I love him and I miss him. I want to tell him that I don’t go a single day without thinking of him. I want to hear him tell me that I’m doing a good job. I want to hear him say that he misses me and loves me and thinks about me every day. I want to watch him breathe. I want to hold his hand. I want to watch him exist in this world again.
That’s my wish that will only be fulfilled on the other side of this life.
If you could send me some kind words of encouragement today, I would really appreciate it. This past Father’s Day, I had a few friends reach out and tell me that 아빠 would’ve been really proud of me, and their words brought me to tears. It’s true. He would’ve been so proud of me. He would’ve been so proud of the person, the girl, the woman, the mother, the partner, the friend, the artist, the daughter, that I have become.
He always was.
He always was.
Happy birthday, 아빠. 사랑하고 너무 보고 싶어.
With love,
Jieun • 지은
Last year, I wrote an essay for 아빠’s 64th birthday. You can read it by clicking the link below.
Dearest Patreon Members,
Thank you so much for your continued support, of us and our work. You are our friends from every phase of our lives — childhood, 20s, 30s, Liberty in North Korea, music, church, and life. You are fans we met at shows. You are listeners of our music. You are readers of my writing. You are women. You are Asian. You are Korean. You are People of the Global Majority. You are artists. You are activists. You are queer. You are Christian. You are grievers. You are mothers. You are fathers. You are deep feelers.
Greg and I feel incredibly honored to be supported by you. Thank you.
