Macau and Hong Kong: The Birthday Journey We Continued for Dad

The Decision to Still Go

I won't pretend the decision was easy or unanimous from the first moment. When you lose someone, even ordinary days feel wrong — the idea of going on the very trip that was meant for him felt almost impossible.

But the more we sat with it, the more it became clear that cancelling wouldn't honor him, and going might. This was his gift. The plan existed because of him. Staying home wouldn't bring him back; it would only mean the trip he was so much a part of would never exist at all.

So we went. Not to move on — that's not how grief works — but to carry him somewhere he was supposed to be.

Macau: Beautiful and Bittersweet

Macau is a genuinely striking place — the architecture, the lights, the mix of Portuguese and Chinese history layered into the same streets. We stayed at a five-star hotel, the kind of stay Dad would have enjoyed teasing us about while secretly loving every minute of it.

And that became the pattern of the trip: every impressive thing came with a quiet second thought. He would have liked this. He would have said something funny here. The wow and the ache arrived together, every time.

Still, there was real joy. We walked, we explored, we took too many photos. Grief was travelling with us, but so was he, in a way. The trip didn't feel haunted. It felt accompanied.

The Bus to Hong Kong

One of the trip's most memorable stretches was the simplest: the bus ride from Macau to Hong Kong. Crossing between two famous cities by road, watching the water and the bridge stretch out around us, was quietly spectacular in a way I hadn't expected from a bus.

There's something about transit time on a trip like this. Nobody has to talk. You just sit with your family, watch the view move, and let your thoughts go where they need to go. Some of my clearest memories of Dad from that week came to me on that bus.

Hotpot, Lotus Tea, and Being Together

In Hong Kong we ate authentic hotpot, and it turned out to be exactly what our family needed. Hotpot is not a quick meal — it's a slow, communal, slightly chaotic event where everyone cooks, shares, and argues gently about how long things need to boil. For a couple of hours, the table was loud and warm and full, and that fullness mattered more than the food itself. Though the food was excellent too.

We also tried authentic Chinese lotus tea — delicate, floral, calming. It became my quiet ritual of the trip. Dad was the reason we were there, and somehow a slow pot of tea felt like an appropriate way to sit with that.

The Unexpected Joy of Shopping

I didn't expect shopping to be a highlight, but Hong Kong surprised us. I found Adidas shoes at prices noticeably lower than back home — low enough that I double-checked the tags. Luxury perfumes, too, were far more affordable than I was used to seeing.

It felt almost strange to be delighted by shoe prices in the middle of a trip built on grief. But that's the honest shape of loss: it doesn't cancel joy, it just sits beside it. We laughed in those shops. We compared finds. Dad, who appreciated a good deal as much as anyone, would have approved completely.

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