Managed to turn 43 this week. With fairly little fanfare. Which is how I prefer my birthdays these days. Although I got to spend time with people that really matter to me, I was never likely to get close to the one thing I ever secretly wish for.
And that’s still just seeing my own family. A small enough ask of the Cosmos you might think but something that realistically may never happen again. And it’s only really at times like that, that it ever manages to hit home. And it sucks. Or blows. Either is appropriate. It’s impossible not to feel that.
The worst of it is having learned to be mostly ok with the loss. That runs against everything I was taught to believe about family. And I’m not sure I want to allow myself to be ok with any of it. But scarily, I almost am. I don’t like it at all.
Given enough time though, you can make peace with just about anything. Doesn’t make it feel right to me at all. So I will have my own little act of defiance. I’m going to continue celebrating their birthdays. Always. I might even start sending them unappreciated cards and although we might never speak again, they will not be getting forgotten. Whether they like it or not, I’m still their brother, just older, a lot happier and prepared to wait for resolution. You might guess what wish extinguished my own candles. There’s a whole year of tomorrows till next time. And optimism is my default position. Always. Never accept defeat.