36 and Counting

Thirty-six.

My age is hyphenated now, it’s getting so long.

Thirty-six.

Half of that is…

18

Ouch.

I’ve been alive for 18×2 years. Or 6×6 years.
Double-ouch. Triple-ouch.

And if you add four years to that, you get…

Uh… no. I can’t say that yet.

So if I’m officially in my mid-to-late thirties…

Why is it that I still feel like I’m in my mid-to-late twenties?

Age is weird.

Life is weird.

Today, at work, as I typed out the date “December 12, 2006” on a document, I had a realization.

This is the first birthday I will celebrate without my Dad.

I won’t get a phone call from him tomorrow.

I won’t hear him tell me the story of my birth.

I won’t hear him tell me how he held me and burped me and fed me and changed my diapers.

And I won’t hear him tell me how proud he is of me, all grown up as an adult, and living my own life.

But I know he’s looking down on me today.

I can feel him with me right now.

I just hope he knows how much I love him, and miss him. And how much I wish I could hear him say “Happy Birthday” today.

I think he knows.

Anyway, sorry to be maudlin.

Because this is MY day, and I should celebrate it however I wish.

And after all, I know I will get a call from my Mom today. And she will sing Happy Birthday to me on the phone, just as she has for the last 10 years. And we will relive the stories and the memories of birthdays past together, and share in our joys and sorrows of the past year. And she will tell me she loves me, and how proud she is of me, and how happy she is that I’m her son.

And I will tell her how much I love her, and how thankful I am to have such an amazing Mom.

Thirty-six years ago today, she met me for the first time. And our love for each other has never stopped since.

So I guess it is a happy birthday, after all.

(And I guess a birthday is better than blood-soaked underwear.)

(P.S.  You guys are sick. 🙂 )

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