Today is April 18 and that means that tomorrow is my birthday. As I sit here thinking about growing older, which we all get to do if we're lucky, I have realized a few things.
I have always made a big deal out of birthdays. Other people's birthdays, not my own. As a matter of a fact, I have planned more parties than I can remember, and I have attended even more than I have planned. However, I have only ever had one birthday party in my life and that was the year I turned 10.
Since then it's been phone calls from family members that I am separated from. First it was from my Grandma Freed and maybe my Mom. After Grandma passed away, it was usually a call from Mom and a few friends. These days it's calls from my children, and usually my Dad.
This year I'll there will be 2, possibly 3 calls from the kids. My oldest son is in Korea for a few weeks and won't be calling, and I'm not sure about the youngest son (and honestly don't care if you want the truth. His not calling is no more painful than his lying to me about stopping when he's in West Virginia, in the same town no less, for a few days, and then doesn't even bother to let me know that he ISN'T coming by. So no call just means one less opportunity to lie to me.)
I'm pretty sure that a few of my friends will call and wish me a Happy Birthday. I know that they love me and will wish me well.
But that isn't what this is about. What it is about is that for some reason I feel as though I am not as important as other people I know/love. It's important for them to have a good day, each and every day, I pray for them, I let them know that I care, I reach out.
Now here I sit, facing some serious health issues and, quite honestly, feeling sorry for myself. I want my birthday to be a good day, but I know that it won't be. I still don't have a water heater nor the money for one, I don't even have the money to get myself a sandwich and a cupcake as a treat. It's not that I expect anyone to feel sorry for me, or to do those things for me, it's that I can't do them for myself. I hate being broke, I hate not having a job, I hate being alone, I hate not having a car or a decent house to live in.
I hate my life.
So tomorrow, I will get up, let the dogs out, do my yoga, drink some tea and possibly go back to bed. That will be my birthday gift to myself. Sleep through it and when it's over it will be just a bad memory.
Like almost every single one of the last 41.