So This is Thirty

Could someone please explain to me why happy birthday is quite possibly the hardest song for people to sing? Seriously.  It was written in a key that I don’t know if any human being can sing on without sounding like they are literally in pain.  Yet birthday after birthday, we sing this song to each other, wishing a happy day to people we love and care about.

I turned thirty yesterday.  I’m old.

I hate my birthday.  I hate my birthday on a good year but this year being what it was and turning thirty on top of that made it a bit harder and crappier than most years.  I’m not like most people that claim to hate the day but secretly love the attention.  I am the person that refuses to let anyone leave the table when we are out to eat at a restaurant in the event they try to get sneaky and alert the wait staff to the fact that it’s my birthday. 

Yesterday was tough.  I gave myself a pass on my run that morning because I could see the day going badly so I figured maybe if it didn’t start with exhaustion and a sweaty back I stood a fighting chance of making it to work in one piece.  It didn’t happen.  I accepted all of the “happy birthdays” from my awesome co-workers and friends while trying not to think that I just didn’t feel very happy.  Another friend, who has been there for me in way I could never thank her for, gave me a beautiful card,some much needed hugs, and words of love and encourgement absorbing my tears on her shirtsleeve. 

The thing is, I just couldn’t help feeling really sad.  So I cried.  I cried tears of sadness because I am missing a huge piece from my heart and my family and so I feel so incomplete; I may never have the sense of peace that comes from knowing things in your life are as they should be.  Some people never feel that, but I did, and so I feel that loss as well.  I cried tears of relief because this awful twenty-ninth year of my life finally came to a close.  And still, even with all of that, there were tears of joy that I have so many people in my life that love me and have stood by me, even when I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. 

When I got home I cried.  I cried but then I wiped my eyes, put a smile back on my face, a bright pink lipstick I probably have no business wearing but do anyway because, hey, I’m thirty, and headed out to dinner with my little family that loves me in a way that soothes my broken soul.  We made a pit-stop at Jack’s spot where I did my best to hold it together as I replaced his old, dried flowers with some pretty purple and yellow ones and told him I loved him.  Now, it may just be my wanting it to be so but as I said, “I love you,” the little pinwheel we leave at his place began to spin; it spun so fast on a day where the heat could just about kill you and there was little to no breeze.  And so, I’ll take it.  He was telling his mama he loved her on a day where she needed something to help carry her through it. 

Dinner was great and we made it through with no “happy birthday” from strangers that only sing because they are hoping for a larger tip.  I felt a little guilty because I know Kennedy wanted to sing and eat dessert, but we said we were full and left it at that.

Truth be told, I didn’t want to blow out any candles.  I didn’t want to make a wish.  In my mind I know the one thing I would wish for can never come true, but my heart can’t help itself.  So, for a while at least, I will forgo candles and wishes.  I will continue to hate birthdays but will try to do my best to get on board with the “happy” part of it.

Dear Thirty,

Please be kind to me.

Sincerely,

Tricia