45

Today I turn 45. Jason and I were 42 when he was diagnosed…43 when he died…I survived 44 without him…and now 45.

I used to love my birthday because Jason would make it special for me. He would often take the day off of work just to spend time with me. Waking me up with a kiss on the back of my neck and a “Happy Birthday Babe” in my ear. Making me coffee. Figuring out a plan for the day. Usually it involved hiking in the woods or a daytrip somewhere. Nothing fancy. Sometimes we would go out for hibachi at Osaka with friends. I loved every second of it and would soak it up…filling up my cup of happiness.

And now I’m here…missing him…loving him…wanting him back here with me. This is not what 45 should look like. I don’t feel like going out. I don’t feel like celebrating. So today…on MY day…I am giving myself permission to feel sad. There have been other “special” days recently where I didn’t have the freedom to really feel my own feelings because concern for other people’s feelings crowded my own out. So today my “self-care” is letting myself feel sad.

My day hasn’t been miserable by any means. I got up this morning. Got my workout in. My coworkers treated me well…birthday donuts, cupcake, Caribou. Our kids are all home…although Anna is quarantined in her room with Covid. They bought fancy cupcakes and made a point of wishing me Happy Birthday. One of them even gave me a huge hug. We ordered Thai food for dinner. And now I’m going to drink wine…and just be. Unfortunately, it’s rainy out or I would definitely be by the fire in my gazebo.