A Very Merry UnBirthday.

Remember City Slickers? That moment when Billy Crystal is jarred out of a peaceful sleep on the eve of his last year before the point of no return otherwise known as the forties? That moment when the phone rings and he picks it up to hear his mother’s quintessential New York accent comes through the phone to recount in detail his birth story?

Thank God my mother doesn’t do this.

My parents made birthdays wonderful events as a child. My husband focused almost exclusively on the gifting. My children are too young to notice what’s supposed to be mom’s special day unless someone spoon feeds it to them, and a birthday celebration has now devolved to virtual wishes of good health and good fortune. My friends are too busy with their own lives and, after five years of purposefully avoiding my birthday, it is an awkward request to ask them to take time out to celebrate the fact that I have lost another year.

Happy un-birthday to me.

I have done the spa thing. I have done the night away thing. I have done the fun-with-the-kids family thing. I have done the stay-so-busy-maybe-you-won’t-notice thing. I have done the slow-down-and-breathe thing. I have done-the-night-away-with-friends thing.

No matter what I’ve done to celebrate, I’ve not been able to shake the lingering irritation that all I really want is someone who cares that it’s my day.

(Unless, Gerard Butler is giving out foot rubs. In which case I want those, too.)

And yet this birthday feels different than the four that came before. I spent my birthday running frantic for others, an exhausting week-long gauntlet that set me further back on the sleep deprivation scale and ensured that the week ahead will be nothing if not an unorganized shambles.  

But amidst the hustle two bright sparks reminded me that one day is simply, one day.

Three years ago, my birthday became the day my brother lost his best friend. Each year, he has marked the day in memory and celebration, refusing to look at the end as an end. This year, a friend raced across the sky with an unbridled passion for life that we celebrate in envious fashion.

And this year, I chose to answer the phone instead of ignoring it as I sunk into a sea of my own tears and slipped through the keyhole into another year.

Now blow the candle out my dear,
And make your wish come true.