Day 23, birthday blues..

While painting this day I thought of all my many birthdays and how one of them, has shaped how I’ve felt over the years about all the others. When I was turning 9 years old, my mother was in hospital. She had, apparently, left instructions for my dad and siblings to make a dinner party. The day came, I got all dressed up and nothing happened. They forgot…sadly by that tender age I had already become a person who kept secrets so told no one, reminded no one. I just wandered aimlessly around our side garden, singing softly and talking quietly to myself, feeling the shame of not being good enough to be remembered, my little heart broken. Eventually I was noticed and very gently told mum was in hospital and we’d have a celebration when she came out. The sadness of birthday anticipation has followed me year after year. Now that my only child is no longer here to somehow make my birthday a little better, it has been even more painful and a disappointment. This year, when It comes (in June), I’m throwing caution to the wind and gladly embracing my day as if Jason had come back to see me.

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