The first birthday after: what families actually do

You have known about the date for weeks. It has been sitting out there since about the middle of the month, and the closer it gets the more it takes up, and nobody has said anything because nobody knows what to say.

There is no correct way to spend it. But families do tend to find that a small plan is easier than no plan, because with no plan the day becomes a long wait for something that never quite arrives.

The dread is usually worse than the day

This is the most consistent thing people report, and it is worth knowing in advance. The fortnight of approach is often harder than the day itself, which usually contains some ordinary hours and sometimes, unexpectedly, a good one.

It also does not mean you are through it. Some people find the second year harder, when everyone else has moved on and the sympathy has thinned out.

Things families do

None of these are prescriptions. They are just what other people have found bearable.

• ● Cook what he cooked. The Sunday roast, the terrible curry, the birthday cake she always made for everybody else.
• ● Go where she went. A beach, a hill, a particular bench, the pub at the end of the road.
• ● Do the thing he was good at. A round of golf, a day in the garden, fixing something that has needed fixing.
• ● Raise a glass at a fixed time, with everyone in their own houses. Seven o'clock, wherever you are.
• ● Give the day away: walk, swim, run, or do the volunteering she did.
• ● Nothing at all. Work, if work helps. Plenty of people find the office the easiest place to be.

Let people know what you want

Friends are terrified of getting this wrong. Most will say nothing rather than risk reminding you, which leaves you feeling that everyone has forgotten.

A short message a week before solves it: "It is Dad's birthday on the 14th. I would love to hear anything you remember about him," or equally, "It is Dad's birthday on the 14th and I am planning to ignore it entirely, so please do not ring."

Either is a kindness. The thing that hurts is silence in both directions.

Anniversaries are when the memories arrive

If you gather what people remember, this is the day to ask. Something about a birthday gives people permission, and people who could not face writing anything in the first raw month often find they can now.

The ask should stay small. "What did he always say?" or "What is your favourite photograph of Mum?" gets more than "share your memories", and what comes back on that day is frequently the best material a family ever collects.

The children

Children handle this more directly than adults expect. They will want cake. They will want to blow the candles out. They will ask a factual question in the middle of it and then go and play, and the adults will be undone while the children are fine.

Let them mark it in the way they suggest. A drawing on the grave, a balloon, a candle, a card written to a person who cannot read it. None of it is morbid to them, and a child who is allowed to do these things learns that the person can be talked about.

If it goes badly

Sometimes the plan collapses. The meal is wrong, someone says the wrong thing, the family argues in a car park, and you end the day feeling you have failed at something.

You have not. There are more birthdays, and they change over time. Many families find that by year three the day has quietly turned into something they look forward to rather than dread: an excuse to be in the same room and tell the same stories, which is roughly what birthdays were for in the first place.

Kitty — Kitty writes and edits the Carn journal.