I turned 35 today. Aside from the fact that I can't believe I'm this old (seriously, HOW did this happen??) I can't believe I spent this day without my son. I thought a lot about it towards the end of my pregnancy. I thought about the fact that I would have my baby in my arms on my 35th birthday -- that I would finally be a Mommy. I knew I wouldn't care what presents I got or what festivities anyone did or didn't have planned because my beloved and I would have our son. That's all I wanted. Just my little family around me as I rang in a new year.
Well we all know that didn't happen. And I single-handedly made this one of the most depressing birthdays ever. About two weeks after Thomas died my beloved asked me what I wanted for my birthday while we were out for a drive, trying desperately to distract ourselves from the unending pain of our grief. I told him I didn't want anything because the only thing I wanted I couldn't have. Eventually my Mom and my sister also asked what I'd like for my birthday. I told them the same thing. I wanted to be with them to mark the occasion, but I didn't want gifts.
Somehow this turned into "She doesn't want to have a birthday at all". That's never what I had in mind. In fact, my feelings about this day had changed over the ensuing four weeks and I was starting to feel that it might be nice, maybe even uplifting, to have a present or two. But the damage was done. I'd successfully put a pall over the day. My Mom called to wish me a happy birthday, but prefaced it with "I know you don't want to hear this, but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday." Granted, I knew it wasn't going to be the very happiest birthday ever, but who doesn't want to hear their Mom wish them a happy birthday? I'd have been crushed if she hadn't called today.
I'm an idiot. A depressing and, now, depressed idiot. The sun is setting on my 35th birthday and I made it a miserable one. If it hadn't been for my beloved (who bought me a beautiful necklace and some gardening books, made me breakfast, took me out for lunch and asked me all day long what I wanted to do next in a vain attempt to help me have a good day) I'm sure I'd have spent the day in a pool of my own tears and snot.
By some miracle I haven't cried today. I'm not really sure why. Maybe, at 35, I just don't have the energy or maybe the love of a good man has kept my spirits above the sobbing point. Or maybe, like a very good friend's 3-year old said, Thomas "is in heaven helping God" and they've spent the day working to get me through one of the hardest birthdays ever.
So thank you my beloved, my sweet Thomas and God. What would I do without you?