Fernando

Sometimes, you get what you wish for.

Jeremy had a great sense of humor. Before we ever met, he had already been anointed with an alter ego named Fernando.
More accurately, Freaky Fernando.

Fernando was a trickster, an activist, a troublemaker, a hater of sleeping, and a lover of tequila. Fernando was funny. Sometimes.

Signs. I believe in them. I always have.

The other day, it was my birthday.
It was also Jeremy’s.

We shared it. Something that was both sweet and slightly annoying, because we always found it hard to surprise each other.
I used to joke that I wished we had separate birthdays.
I’d like to un-wish that bullshit right about now.

I knew if there were ever a day for me to get a sign, this would be it.
That he would let me know he’s with me.

I’ve dreaded this day for months.
Months of knowing my birthday twin would never again celebrate with me.
Months of looking in the mirror, trying to recognize the version of me who would be left to celebrate alone. Months of fuzzy shock.

But a sign would make it easier to bear.

I woke up with a lump in my throat that stayed with me all day.
Sometimes it won. Sometimes I did.

I went to coffee with my mom.
She took me to ride a swan boat around a lake.

No sign.

The heat set in, and we slothed back to my house to nap the afternoon away.

No sign.

That evening, some friends gathered around me for a dinner they planned.
The best compliment I got from each of them was how wonderful my friends are.

Still, no sign.

The next morning, I woke up heavy with grief.
The sudden heat wave was suffocating what little ease of breathing I still had.

I was angry.
I was sad.
I was also grateful.

Grateful for my friends.
For the beautiful, thoughtful efforts they made to celebrate me.
To celebrate Jeremy.

But I didn’t get the one birthday gift I wanted most.

Any small sign.

I laid there and said out loud:
“Are you still here?”
“Are you with me?”

I dragged through the morning, remaking the birthday cake I’d messed up the day before. I shuffled around the house. I ran an errand.

Then my mom called. She was sitting in a park, just calling to say hi. I wanted to show her a gift a friend had made for me, so we got on FaceTime.

And then, out of nowhere, she started singing.

"Fernando..."
"There was something in the air that night..."

She turned her phone around so I could see a circle of people in the park with instruments, singing together.

I’d seen them once before.
That time, they played all Beatles songs.

But this day. This moment. This minute!
They were singing ABBA.
Not just any ABBA song.

That ABBA song.

And my mom, standing in the park, randomly calling, starts singing along to her grieving daughter on the phone.

She didn’t know the significance of that song.
But I did.

I’ve sung it to you so many times over the years.

Freaky Fernando.
My birthday twin.

A wave of tears.
Relief.
Grief.

Thanks, Jeremy.
I needed that.

xx