October 7th, 2007, is the day my dad died. He was in Houston, TX, and I was in Deming, NM. I remember the phone ringing around 6:30 am with the news. He missed my mom terribly, and my faith assures me he was dancing to Little Joe Y La Familia with his bride that morning in heaven. This belief, rooted in my faith, brought me a sense of peace amidst the turmoil of his passing. I was relieved he was free from suffering, but I wasn’t quite sure how I truly felt.
And, October 7th is my birthday.
It was a Sunday morning, and I remember sitting in the living room after hanging up the phone in a stunned silence. The stillness and quiet of the room were deafening. And then I remembered it was my birthday. Gosh, what a horrible thing to happen on your birthday, was my immediate thought. That day was filled with a complex mix of emotions, a blend of joy for my birth and sorrow for my dad’s passing. “Hey, Dude!” I would exclaim when walking into his house or hospital room. I have no idea where “dude” came from, but it always brought a grin to his strong, silent demeanor.
I went to church (Joe was the music director) that morning, and people were amazed that I was there. I mean, why wouldn’t I be in church? It is the place where I bring my joy, sorrow, and pain. Being around my church family was a crucial part of my healing process, providing the support and comfort I needed while I was hundreds of miles away.
It took some time for me to appreciate October 7th, 2007. I am part of a special club that celebrates its birthday with the death of a loved one. And when I meet someone in the club, this is what I tell them.
Your birthday is a celebration of the first breath you took. The first time air filled your lungs, and you cried out to the heavens. It was a moment when your parents/loved ones celebrated that God blessed them with the gift of you.
And when life comes to an end, we each respond differently. In our grief, we may give thanks that a loved one’s suffering has ended—that they were no longer merely existing, but now rest in peace.
But when a life ends too soon, our hearts may fill with anger, confusion, and sorrow. We may question God, and that’s okay. Over time, with grace, we often move toward acceptance.
Through it all, we can trust that God welcomes each soul with love and without judgment—welcoming them into the Kingdom of Heaven. Yes, we mourn their absence, but we also celebrate that they are now with God for eternity, on a day forever etched in our hearts.
If both of these experiences of birth and death aren’t sacred, then I don’t know what is.
I don’t have the words to express my sincere gratitude to Gonzalo Campos. His last breath was on the date I took my first. Wow…what a gift.
I see him in the things I do, the choices I make, and how I live my faith, just as he did. I also see him in my sons. Sometimes the way a head tilts or how they walk is as if my dad were in front of me. When I look at my sons, I see the “Campos” pop out at times, and I know it’s my Dude, telling me how proud he is of me and my family.
Today, I celebrate both birth and death, and I would have it no other way.
Today I am thankful for:
- chocolate cake and candles
- my husband
- a song from my son
- phone calls
- Facebook birthday wishes
