Today is my birthday. I know, it’s not a real holiday. But it’s a day where we get together with family (twice), and it feels like a holiday.
And wow, it’s hard. I smile, and hug my kids and my husband and my family. And I blow out the candle and make a wish. But he’s there, right in the front of my mind. I can’t stop thinking about Oliver, and how he should be HERE. I’m not supposed to be celebrating without him here with me. This isn’t right. It’s not how it was supposed to be.
How can I even fucking celebrate anything? What wish could I possibly make, other than wishing he was in my lap? Wishing I was kissing his chubby cheeks? Wishing with all of my being that I was the one who left this place rather than him.
So now I know, though. I know holidays are going to be happy on the outside, miserable on the inside. A sad undercurrent accompanying an otherwise joyful occasion.