A sense of sadness.

I wanted to write this great poem about my week, but it just couldn't come together for me, so I guess I'll ramble on about it instead.

It was my birthday. I turned 29. No big deal, I guess. I was a little surprised that I wasn't in my thirties yet - I feel older. At least 31. A huge part of me wanted to hide away and quietly accept the day and move one. So I skipped the concert I was planning to attend, kept my day busy with small interactions. At the end of the day, eating a cake with unlit candles on it, reading a book I had really wanted, it all hit me.

It was my tenth birthday with a dead mom.

I want to say "without a mom" but the truth is that her death and resulting absence is just as profound as her life. I had a mom. For a time. Then she was gone. And her death was ugly, merciless, long, and leaves me with a complex set of emotions I barely understand. So I sat there, and I ate the cake someone else's mom made for me, and I tried to be grateful that there was a mom who wanted to make me cake. Sisters who wanted to celebrate with me. Friends who wanted to say hello. And a part of me was.

But knowing... ten birthdays, missed. And the list will grow. I may even live long enough to have more birthdays with a dead mom than with a living one. Macabre, eh? And. Oh how sad it makes me.

I feel tired, wounded, lost in this ache.

This year I said: I don't want a big thing next year. Sure, it'll be 30 years. But that's ok.
I hope everyone listens. I hope they could understand. Seeing them all, gathered together to celebrate, helps me remind of the one person who can't join us.

I'd rather be sad quietly than out loud.