Birthdays from Hell.

It's the eve of my birthday. 

I have a funny feeling every year this date rolls around.

Since marrying Peter, I have had an issue with my birthday. It seemed to matter more than ever that he recognize the day of my birth more than anyone else. For some reason, his acknowledging it meant more than any birthday party my mom would throw for me, birthday celebration my friends would show me or birthday wish my children bestowed on me.

One year, I asked to take a writing class. Instead, he got me a night at the Ritz Carlton. I was heart broken.

One year, he showed up at my job in Boca Raton with a cake he baked himself. I was embarrassed.

Another year, my 40th year, he offered to throw me a party, inviting all of our friends in Gaborone, but a few days before, I was so mad at him, I cancelled it giving our "pending divorce" as the reason.

Then, two years ago, he got things right. Was it that he brought me flowers - not the long stemmed roses he'd bought me one year, but the tulips I had asked for? Did he pick out a beautiful timeless sweater instead of a tight-ill fitting one that I made him return? I can't even tell you the details because I don't remember. The next year, the same. He 'nailed it', as one of my son's friends has been known to say.

What did he do differently? I don't know. Maybe it was the year that lead up to the birthday? Maybe he paid closer attention to me. Maybe he was present when he was with me, instead of closed off and distant. Maybe he showed me how much he loved me and enjoyed my company. Or maybe, now I could see, hear, and feel these sentiments and most importantly, believe them.

How many birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, weekends...moments, really, throughout our lives together had I refused to see, feel, believe the love he gave me? Why spend so much time worrying, wondering, and wasting love? Why, indeed.

I'm over 50 this year. Plenty of birthdays behind me and hopefully plenty ahead. But reality is that there are far more in the past then in the future and when I look back, I hope I remember the glamor of a night at the Ritz, the decadence of the delicious mocha chocolate frosting, the party that took place anyway because our friends rallied behind me during an especially vulnerable year.

As I look forward, I have no idea what the future holds, but I know, I have much to look forward to.
I have experienced amazing, sad, fun, funny, and mysterious things. Just in the past year, I've lost an aunt, two adoring and adored pets, signed on to start a new project, further released my able and amiable daughter into the world, thanks to his GoPro, watched my son smash his handsome face into the side of a mountain and listen to the Pediatrician tell him he's lucky he didn't lose an eye, got a puppy, gave my husband the beginnings of my long overdue memoir, and called myself a writer, once again.

At 52, my son will get his driver's license and finally face the dreaded college admissions process, my daughter will turn 21, my mom faces cancer treatment on the heels of her sister dying of 'complications brought on by cancer', and with the love of my life and the best friend I could ever hope for, we'll be fixing up a tiny cabin in a hundred acre wood so that he can fish, so that I can write.

Good and bad, it's going to one hell of a year!