There are moments in life that feel ordinary at first—just another candle, another cake, another birthday. But sometimes, in the quiet between laughter and camera clicks, something deeper stirs. I didn’t know then that I was capturing my father’s final celebration. I didn’t know that the smile I framed through my lens would echo in my memory long after the candles were blown out.

But now, I return to that day, again and again, holding on to its warmth as if it were the last fire on a cold, endless night.

The Last Birthday We Never Knew Was the Last

10th December 2022

I never imagined that day would become the final memory of his laughter—the last time I’d see the man who raised me smile, with happiness spilling so effortlessly from the depths of his soul. There was a kind of light in his eyes I hadn’t seen in a while—soft, almost childlike, as though for a fleeting second, time had forgiven him.

It was his birthday. And though he gently insisted he didn’t want a celebration, no cake, no fuss—I, of course, chose to ignore that. Some rituals are too sacred to break, especially the ones built with love and quiet devotion.

An Unexpected Nudge from the Universe

Before I built this little realm of mine, I was a self-taught graphic designer working from home. The shift happened during the horrid COVID era, and I chose to continue ever since—I had clients, and I preferred the quiet. One of them was also a friend of mine. Her business was rare, and in many ways, spiritual. She offered cleansing rituals, guided peaceful living, and at times, she could sense things others couldn’t.

The night before my dad’s birthday, she reached out. We discussed her flyer—layout, content, tone—and when all was sorted, she asked about my father. She knew he hadn’t been in good health.

Then, unexpectedly, she asked,
“When’s your dad’s birthday?”

I told her, “It’s tomorrow.”

She paused. Then admitted something had compelled her to ask. Something unspoken. Something beyond logic.
Then silence—just stillness between us over text.

A Gift That Became a Blessing

A few minutes later, a notification popped up on my phone: a bank transfer from her.

She had sent me money for my dad’s birthday. She told me to use it to make him happy. “Go home,” she said, “Celebrate it with him.”

I was stunned. Grateful. Touched beyond words.

At that moment, I didn’t have enough to buy him a cake. But thanks to her, I could. I began searching for ready-made cakes the next morning. It was too late to order anything custom. And then, like fate stepping in, I found one—his favorite: a cheesecake from a famous bakery. Not just any cheesecake. The cheesecake. The one that usually sells out before you even get a chance.

It felt like the stars had aligned.

Our Quiet Ritual of Celebration

I called my siblings and asked them to come over to our father’s house. We were going to surprise him. No excuses.

Outside his house, we lit the candle silently, held the cake carefully, and marched toward his room like excited children. On the count of three, we belted out “Happy Birthday” the moment we caught a glimpse of his head from the doorway.

He turned. Startled.
Not smiling—at first. His expression, if anything, looked annoyed.

But we knew him too well.

He never liked making a big deal out of his birthday. He called buying him cake “wasteful.” He didn’t understand why we kept doing it, year after year.

And yet—every year, we did. We took turns buying the cake. We planned. We made the effort. It was our small vow: as long as we were able, his birthday would always be celebrated.

That day was no different.

The Smile I’ll Never Forget

He blew out the candle. Cut the cake. And in that moment, I raised my phone to take a picture—something told me I needed to.

And then—he smiled.

A real smile.

He usually kept his face neutral, hidden. But through my lens, I saw something raw and tender: the sag in his skin from age, the weariness from years of declining health. His jet-black hair had turned grey. His once-perfect teeth had grown sparse, leaving gaps that somehow made his grin even more endearing.

We laughed all afternoon. He told us stories. We argued about small things like always, and he watched us bicker with amusement. For that moment, the world felt whole.

But a weight settled in my chest.

A feeling I couldn’t explain.

I knew—somewhere—this would be the last birthday I’d get to celebrate with him. The ache of that knowing curled inside me, but I refused to let it rob me of the joy.

I just watched him.

I took it all in.

The Memory That Stays

And as it turned out, I was right.

He checked in and out of the hospital like it was a second home the following year. His condition worsened. He passed away two months before his next birthday.

And although I’ve lost the warmth of his presence now, I’m forever grateful I was there for that final celebration.

I captured his last smile. I captured his light.

And that memory will never leave me.

I will forever miss you, my King.