"What do you want for your birthday?" my husband has been asking me for the last few weeks.
I will turn 30 on Monday.
Which is supposed to be a big thing for some reason, turning 30. And I've got nothing planned. I don't know what I want really.
There are always THINGS I could use, things I want.
I had hoped to maybe fly home to the U.S., celebrate with my family and close friends. Nothing big, just being together, talking, hanging out, good drinks, brownies not cake, because I don't really like cake all that much. (Well, I don't like frosting. Cake is fantastic, frosting... not so much. FUDGEY brownies, too, not cakey ones.)
But instead, I will be home in Australia, alone with my husband and one of our sons. Missing the other one. And maybe eating salmon and having a glass of wine.
I don't really want to celebrate this year, being so far away from so many people I love. The last 3 years I haven't been overly eager to celebrate my birthday anyway because it just feels weird celebrating in the winter instead of summer, and without my family and friends. But THIS year, this year is harder.
This year, I will not be having a very happy birthday.
Which might seem like a really pessimistic, maybe even selfish statement to make.
But you see, one of my biggest dreams, one of the things I have always ALWAYS wanted was a house full of little boys. Kind of like Jo, from Little Women. I just wanted to raise lots of little boys.
The moment I found out Bennet was a boy I already knew he was dying, and my mind still played through the joy of what years of having TWO boys might be like! I hated my brain for doing that to me.
So my birthday is now one of "those" days. One of those days that should be filled with more celebration and laughter because we should have another little boy with us. One of those days that should have more hair pulling, more sibling fights and rivalry, more smiles, more giggles, more belly kisses and happy good-mornings filled with two little boy's smiles. And one of my boys is not here. And I miss him more, if possible, on days like this.
Days like this, I don't want anything but to have him back alive. Days like this I would move heaven and earth if I could see him smile, hear him giggle, hell, even just hear him breath. Just once.
Days like this I hold my living son a little tighter, I smile through tears as we play together, I give him extra hugs and belly kisses, extra stories and songs. Days like this I have joyful moments, maybe even happy ones, but they are not happy days. Days like this I appreciate more what I do have, and miss more what I don't.