It has been 15 years since my father passed away, and once again, his birthday has arrived.

I still remember his last birthday while he was alive, which fell during the New Year holiday. At that time, I was in college and not particularly mindful of the lunar calendar. It wasn’t until my mother called me in the evening that I realized with shock that I had forgotten my father’s birthday.

By then, my father had already been diagnosed with a serious illness for several months. The moment I received my mother’s call, I felt an overwhelming sense of panic. It seemed to be the first time I deeply felt that I had failed in my duty as a son—unable to even remember something as simple as my father’s birthday. Although my father comforted me over the phone, saying, “I won’t blame you,” that birthday undoubtedly became a lifelong regret for me.

A little over a year after my father passed away, when I could no longer say “Happy Birthday” to him, I could only write a blog post titled “A Day I Can Never Forget” as a record.

However, perhaps due to the rebelliousness of my student days, looking back at that article now, I feel it reveals a certain ignorance and arrogance, even mixed with selfish thoughts. At its root, I think it’s mainly because, in my memory, “birthdays” were never given much importance—they were merely seen as occasions for an extra egg or a new piece of clothing. The only vivid memory I have is the photo taken at a studio on my 10th birthday, the only picture of my younger self. Even my father’s past birthdays never seemed to receive much attention from me. This likely has to do with rural customs, where only specific birthdays (such as the first birthday, 10th, 30th, 60th, 80th, etc.) are emphasized, while other “ordinary birthdays” are not given much thought.

It wasn’t until I started my own family and became a father myself that I gradually gained a new understanding of “birthdays.”

About a year and a half ago, my mother began planning a 60th posthumous birthday ceremony for my father. The main consideration was that my father passed away in middle age, and the age of 60, marking a full cycle in the traditional lunar calendar, holds special significance in customs. The reason for starting preparations a year and a half in advance is that local customs often involve holding banquets when entering the new age—that is, at 59 years old, “entering the 60th year”—though some choose to hold it after turning 60. After discussing with the local presiding monk, we decided to hold the ceremony when my father would have “turned 60.”

Posthumous birthday ceremonies are quite common in my hometown, typically held for milestone ages like 60, 80, 100, or 120, depending on the age at which the deceased passed away. Usually, such a ceremony is held only once.

The ceremony shares similarities with traditional burial customs but is much shorter, lasting only a day. From my understanding, it can be roughly divided into several parts: prayers to heaven and earth, offerings to the Kitchen God, offerings to the Water God (Xuanwu), offerings to the Five Directions deities, offerings to ancestral spirits, sutra recitations for the deceased, offerings to the departed, and paying respects to local earth deities. Each part takes about half an hour to an hour, and for about half of them, I had to kneel and follow the presiding monk in prayers.

For more details, you can refer to two articles I wrote earlier:

1. The Chinese Earth Burial I Know .
2. What Are the Customs for Placing Altars in Rural Hunan Households? .

Unlike the solemn atmosphere of a burial, this posthumous birthday ceremony had a more positive and relaxed vibe. Moreover, the biggest difference from most “banquet” events is that “no monetary gifts are expected.” All expenses are covered by the host family, so not many outsiders are invited—only close relatives. The entire process was smooth and heartwarming.

Before holding this posthumous birthday ceremony for my father, I had been troubled by one issue: my father left behind almost no photos during his lifetime. The portrait used for his funeral was merely an enlarged version of a one-inch ID photo taken when he was young. Fortunately, with today’s advanced AI technology, I scanned the low-resolution photo from his ID card and the youthful ID photo, using multiple AI tools to synthesize a high-definition image based on his facial features. I then showed it to my mother and several relatives for their input. In the end, we selected a photo that everyone agreed was nearly perfect, helping to make up for the regret we had all carried over the years.