Compassion Summer 2023

8 tcf.org.uk Your Stories & Poems My daughter, Lakshmi, died 26 years ago on my 34th birthday. She had been ill for 6 months, and as each of her siblings’ and cousins’ birthdays arrived I would whisper to her in her sleep, “You’re going nowhere tomorrow,” for fear that one of them would have to share their special day with something that marred their lives. I forgot to do it on my birthday eve, and sure enough, she chose my birthday to leave us. It was odd. And do you know what? I didn’t mind. It felt like she had chosen the day especially. So we wouldn’t forget her? Surely not - how could we ever? But it did, and still does, feel special. Like some sort of perverse gift, and I’ve learned to love it. As the years went on, her siblings and our closest people remember, and the cards I receive from them don’t say ‘happy birthday’. It’s almost like they send me a double lot of love instead. 40 was difficult - six years on and still raw. 50 - not so bad, but we still went away with those close to me. And 60? Still went away, but I was completely ‘had’ by my youngest daughter who organised a month early surprise birthday party for me with all my closest friends. Over the years I’ve come to realise how much I am loved, and that people want to celebrate me on my birthday. But there’s always a sadness on the day. The whole family, with Val on the far right and dad Steve at Lakshmi's side. My birthday and… by Val Harrison Val's lovely daughter Lakshmi, taken in 1996, before she fell ill. COMPASSION | YOUR STORIES & POEMS Thank you to all those have shared with us your stories and poems honouring and remembering your precious children.