I recently had a birthday, my 41st birthday to be exact. Last year on my birthday trip, my appendix ruptured and I waited a whole year to have a re-do. I was looking forward to spending it the way I have the last fifteen years of my life, with the love of my life, only the love of my life brushed me out of his bubble of existence some time ago. I dreaded the day, knowing it would be a difficult day and it was. Although I had lunch with a close co-worker, and dinner with my beloved son and my trusted friend, I still felt like I was barely holding it together. I had to go buy my own birthday present. How often does someone have to do that after being married for so long?
After fifteen years together I got an e-card and a single line on Facebook saying "Happy Birthday!" I didn't even get a heartfelt telephone call. It was just too easy. Is that all I am worth? I suppose so. I went home that night, depressed and alone in my thoughts. I went to bed, slept very little, and had terrible dreams. At one point I woke myself up wimpering. Is this how all of my birthdays to come will be? Geez, I hope not. It was my saddest, most depressing birthday ever.
I had one ray of light that day - my beautiful son, sitting by my side, telling me over and over,
"I love you mom."
