It’s My Birthday Too, Yeah!
As I write this the clock ticks forward to a birthday.
Yes . . . by the time your read this, it will be my birthday. I don’t really put a lot of method or stock in my own birthday, though.
No, it’s not that I’m aging…though I suppose that’s there. Middle age will do that to you. It’s not even the fact that until the last few years I hadn’t had a wonderful birthday. I actually had a few horrid ones when I was still married. My birthday wasn’t the most enjoyable of occasions, I have to say. I dreaded it and even more dreaded the fact that others would build up its expectations and know that they weren’t that keen on putting it all together.
But one birthday in particular was pretty amazing…and it made every birthday after more so.
On July 1st 1999, my middle child, Hannah, was born. Considering the fact that this little girl was supposed to be born a couple days before was pretty amazing. The fact that doctors first told us she might have a genetic problem and then had to have an amniocentesis . . . started the process. Then her mother hyper-contracted and both of them almost died on the operating table.
Then . . . in the early morning hours of the first day of July in the year before the change in millennium (okay, scientists, I know, the millennium really starts 2001. Sue me) this tiny little thing was born.
My birthday became enjoyable all over again.
No longer was I aging, this little girl was getting presents and her eyes would light up and she’d look at me and her mother like everything was golden. And it was.
I didn’t have to see the world through the mass of either going out drinking with people my spouse knew and not see as much of my friends. I didn’t have to deal with my wife hanging out with my friends and not wanting to spend any more time there. It wasn’t about me or her or marriage or any of that.
July 1st became a day about this little girl as much as it was about me.
It’s an amazing thing to see that you’re being far too selfish and you can spread that day out with someone else.
The hardest birthday for both of us came in 2011 when, less than three months after losing her mother – my wife – we had to celebrate it in different places. She visited her grandparents and I worked because I didn’t have the vacation time. It didn’t matter. We talked. We celebrated. We loved each other and she still got her presents and I lived vicariously through her.
It’s an amazing thing. I’ve told her over and over again that she was the best birthday present I ever received and it’s true. Someone asked once if I minded sharing my birthday.
Only if she minds, was my reply.
So as Sir Paul aptly put it . . . So they say it’s your birthday? Well…it’s my birthday too, yeah!