It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To.

Well babes, It will be my party but I most likely won’t cry. I am not a public crier. Even through all this, there have only been a few times I have cried in public. I remember the first time you saw me cry. It was a big deal for me, for me it is so intimate. I don’t try not to cry I just don’t, it’s just like that for me. But on my own I more than make up for it. I am already grieving you not being with me for my birthday. It’s odd, I usually didn’t make much of a deal out of my birthdays. Unlike you, who enjoyed a birthday week or two hahaha babes... I liked it simple; you, me, a nice day and great night was plenty. But this is 30, and you aren’t here. So I will go to my birthday party with our closest friends. Each one in their own way a piece of you,  all together I'll feel your presence.

We will be at Carlos, just like the good old days… Fuck. By age I should be barely able to use the phrase the good old days, but by life those words have never been more true.

The good old days... The days where you were still here. You would be taking me and bring me home. Now I am thinking about pick ups and a cab ride home alone. I know these in and of themselves are not really anything but what they represent, it’s that that rips me apart.

I have noticed that the build up to predictably hard days is far more intense than the day itself. Probably will be the same for my birthday. It will be our most amazing friends and honestly I will enjoy myself. I really will, I will dress up, have some drinks, and the time I spend there will be nice. But then… Then the party will end and I will go home alone, that is the moment I am dreading. That pain, I can already feel it, it’s coursing through my body and is running down my face as I write you. Fuck. That night back at home just the two of us. That would have been my favourite part. The next morning, breakfast out and a walk. This I will miss and cannot shelter myself from. The hurt so deep it's like it’s cutting me.

Well if I wasn't an adult before, I sure as hell am now. There is no bout I will be going into my thirties a grown up. The innocence of youth sucked out of me. There is something sobering about death, once you see it this close, it ages you. But with that comes an entirely new download of wisdom, it's just a bitch sorting through it all.

What was to be my first birthday as an officially married lady, is now my first birthday as a widow.

I would never have the audacity to begrudge my birthday. Like my Dad always said, it is better than the alternative. Having had a heart attack young he is in on the secret as well. This time here is not a guarantee. To be honest I was always bothered by people complaining about their birthdays, about getting older. I really understood the privilege that it is to age. For me this is not about turning 30, that doesn't bother me at all. It is about turning 30 without you.

It is about celebrating without you. I am getting better at the day-to-day, but celebrating. That's a whole other thing.

You knew how to celebrate life. When you told me your plan for your last birthday I thought you were joking at first... You went all out and I couldn't be happier you did.  A helicopter ride, that other gliding thing you did, a wine tasting, and a beautiful dinner and evening with family.

Who's gonna keep me crazy???

How about this babes, I'll still do something extravagant every July 20th. Something you'd love, something we'd love. I'll always celebrate your birthday, the fact that you were born will remain precious to me forever.

Missing, isn't even a worthy word for what I feel but it's all I have. I am missing you. Love you