Today is my birthday. Unfortunately, it is also the one month anniversary of Barbara’s death. As one of my daughters astutely noted last night, it is likely I will forever divide time into before and after that date. And this birthday is too soon after.
I have never been one to care much about birthdays anyway. Celebration of the natal anniversary is highly overrated. Seriously, I had nothing to do with it. I just happen to have been there. Perhaps part of my disdain for birthdays stems from my childhood. As I have already noted, I grew up poor and quickly. Birthdays were no big deal, because there was very seldom any money to buy gifts. It was just another day for a childhood disappointment. That kind of hurt seldom heals.
Then there is the fact that people I never hear from normally, suddenly come out of the woodwork this one day a year to wish me a happy birthday. Where were all these people the other 364 days of the year? Where were they when I was struggling just to breathe this past year? How many of them came to visit, and give me a short respite? Yes, I am bitter, and the solicitous wishes for my happiness just serve to highlight that bitterness.
I am in pain. Do they really think there is any chance I will have a “Happy Birthday”?