55.

Sean's birthday is tomorrow.

He would have been 55.

When my mother died, a friend of mine told me about "the year of firsts" and how that first year you are basically surviving and going through every milestone and holiday alone. 

A month after Sean died was our anniversary.  Then Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day, the 6th month mark, and now his birthday.  

Each one difficult.  But his birthday - that's a day I am really dreading.

Our birthdays are less than 2 weeks apart.  His is the 30th of March, mine is the 12th of April.  We always did something special (as most people do) to celebrate.  Trips to NYC, Seattle, cakes, concerts, the wonderful lockdown celebrations.  But no matter what we did, or where we were, it was always meaningful.

This year, Easter is the day after Sean's birthday.  I was having a conversation with a friend a month or two ago about Easter plans and, at that point, I wasn't sure what I was doing and said how I wasn't really looking forward to Easter due to his birthday being the day before.  The reply was I should just pretend everything is ok and put it behind me for the day.

Pretend.

I pretend a lot.  In my soul, I'm a writer and we live in the world of pretend.  I pretend every day that things are ok.  In fact, I am so fucking great at pretending that I am waiting for my Oscar to be delivered (by George Clooney, in a tux) for my daily performances.

And put it behind me. Ouch.  Like it's a bad report card I can hide in my backpack (or, drop in a mailbox so it gets all mixed up and doesn't show up again for a week...not that I ever, ever, did that while I was at De Paul.  Ever.)

Totally unrelated: if you take something out of your mailbox that was mailed to you, and walk it to the mailbox on, oh let's say the corner of Passaic Ave and Brook Ave, and drop that imaginary piece of mail in that mailbox, it will take about 6-8 days to find it's way back to your house.  

I've said it before - I get it.  People don't mean for it to sound the way we W's take it.  They mean well.  But sometimes those "mean well" bits of advice really can stab you in the heart. 

Like when they tell you they "get it" because when they got divorced...broke up...etc.  Or that they totally understand because their cousin died.

Pleasepleaseplease.  Do not compare the end of your relationship with the death of our husband or wife.  

It.  Is.  Not.  The.  SAME.

(again, we know you mean well, but, please, just don't.)

Anyway, tomorrow would have been 55 for My Favorite.  A Saturday birthday - a day where we would have gone somewhere and celebrated him.  Good food, memories, and his favorite birthday cake - Black Forest Cake.  He loved that cake and from the first birthday we celebrated, I made him an authentic one.  Morello cherries, kirsch, special dark cocoa powder, real whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings.  It took forever and was labor intensive, and worth every minute of work when he took that first bite.  I wasn't a fan at all, but he would smile like a kid and eat the entire thing over the course of a week.

I found a bakery that sells Black Forest cupcakes so today I went and bought one for tomorrow.

And I'm sure I'll have a few (or more than a few) moments of tears when I think of the birthdays of the past.  

And all the ones we will never get to celebrate.

Happy birthday, my love.