I used to take birthdays for granted as it arrived every year like clockwork. Big get-togethers or surprise parties seemed corny, especially when they bring out the obligatory video montage. My idea of the perfect birthday celebration would be lounging on a hammock somewhere, drifting in and out of sleep.

This year it’s different.

This year I realized why you sometimes want/need to be corny.

When my father passed away more than two years ago, I was devastated. I thought I would be prepared as he had been ill for quite some time. But as anyone who has had to deal with death would tell you, you will never ever be ready for its arrival.

Plus, here’s the thing about grief, it never really goes away. You can forget about it sometimes or think you’ve gotten over it. But in the quiet moments of your day, you’ll sing a song or remember a memory and you’ll feel grief wash over you and you’ll gasp for breath, tears flowing.

In recent months, more and more people we love, know, or know of have gone ahead of us; some because of natural causes, some because of the dreaded disease which has thus far claimed more than four million worldwide.

It comes in waves; you’ve hardly processed the passing of a colleague when you hear of a mentor who has gone ahead, and then a family friend.

You weep every time.

Raymund Isaac was the first photographer I ever worked with. We did a fashion editorial for a teen magazine, guerilla-style, out on the streets. We didn’t have any permits. We just arrived at the location in a van, and started shooting. The models would then change clothes in the van, and we’d go off to the next location. It was fun. He was fun!

Eric Torres was my English professor in college. He could eviscerate your illusions of grandeur with a few words, and I loved him for it. It was he who introduced me to brevity, clarity, and Strunk and White. When he asked us to write letters expressing our views to selected newspapers, I saw my name on print for the first time. It was my eureka moment!

Dr. Delia Tatlonghari was our family pediatrician. She held my hand as a young mom, and helped me take care of my four children. She was my lifesaver, the calm voice who comforted me through the various health issues encountered by growing children. I could not have raised my kids without her, and for that I am eternally grateful.

The world lost these three fine souls in a month’s time; a week or so later I celebrated my 54^th birthday.

It is bittersweet, having to spend a supposedly happy occasion in the midst of grief and suffering. So I take consolation in the thought that those who have gone before us would surely want us to cherish every moment of our lives even more.

Author Jamie Anderson said, “Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”

Let love flow. Give love. Receive love. Be love.