I hate birthdays

I used to love my birthday! It came a couple of months after Christmas when the newness of all those gifts had worn off. A day all about me where everything centers around me the whole time? Yes please! I mean really... how many times a year is that going to happen? ONE.

Than my mom died. Now I hate birthdays. It's impossible to celebrate a birthday when the person who birthed you is no longer around. It's impossible not to have that fact stare at you right in the face all.day.long. While birthdays conjure up images of cakes, parties, and presents for most people... for me it's just a day or sadness and tears.

My birthday is also this huge neon flashing number to me. Showing me exactly how close I am to the age that she died. And let me tell you, it's not a good feeling at all. My mom died at 57, her mom died at 54. I remember her mentioning how when she turned 54 she went to her mother's grave on her birthday and stood there, thinking she was grateful that she had made it that far, but knowing she wasn't likely to live long.

In my teenage mind it wasn't a huge thing. Of course my mom was going to live a long time. Silly her for overreacting and 'celebrating' her birthday with a trip to the cemetery. I thought it was strange.  How little I knew. Now that's me, except I do it already, I didn't wait until my 50's. So I guess that makes me worse.

Her passing away all those years ago sure did open up my eyes. Now it's impossible for me to have a birthday without doing the reverse math, and knowing exactly how long I'm scheduled to be on this Earth. I already go to the cemetary and think about how I'm another year closer to dying. I've tried it all. Trying to be in the moment, be present, focus only on the positive, to tell myself that I life healthier then she did and that will make me live longer. So many things. The fact that I generally eat well means nothing on my birthday, nor does the fact I quit smoking and might have cut down my cancer risk that way. None of it matters when it's something so painful and raw staring at me in the face. Because 99% of me is convinced none of those changes matter. That with faulty genes like these, I'm destined to die long before retirement age.

I already got teary today, trying to explain to a coworker why I was asking her to please not bring in any edible goodies for my birthday. She is sweet to celebrate everyone and treat us all to cupcakes. But it always ends up with me in tears in the bathroom.

Can we please just fast forward past my birthday? I'll gladly give up all cake and presents if it means skipping this day every year.