Monday, March 25, 2013


Dear Mom,

Birthdays used to be a semi-big thing back at our house growing up. Remember how you used to come to me and my sisters on our special days with a song and a treat for dessert.

We would wake up to your melodious voice serenading Happy Birthday to us. We loved it as smaller children. As we got older, we pretended not to like your singing first thing in the morning, but we honestly did deep down. At least I know I did.

I remember one birthday when I was 11 or 12, you didn't wake me up to Happy Birthday. I thought it was a ruse. No one spoke of my changing of age all day. I chose to keep quiet because I didn't want to spoil the "surprise" I would probably get once the cherade was over.

Once it got late into the evening and I didn't see a cake concealed by an Acme paper bag in a corner like usual; there was no card for me to read; no song for me to hear, I realized that you actually forgot my birthday. It crushed me.

I later informed you of your mistake and you "made it up to me" and vowed to never forget my birthday again. I held you to that.

Now, as an adult, I realize that there was obviously some important reason why you forgot my birthday when I was younger. It's not that big of a deal to me. However, I realized something about myself the other day.

Before my "big day" arrives I tend to make sure everyone knows it. Not so much to brag, I guess. But I do it so that if I tell enough people at least one person will remember. Kind of sad, right.

It was, in fact, my 30th birthday last Thursday. I was honestly determined to do absolutely nothing, but as the day approached I began to drop hints about my day. Well, actually, they weren't even hints. They were more of an outward acknowledgement. And honestly, 30 is a big milestone, especially since I didn't think I would ever see it.

This year, however, I didn't expect you to sing for me as I sort of expected in past years. I did think that you would at the very least acknowledge it.

I got nothing. Totally forgot. Hadn't said a word about it until I mentioned it to you in our 60 seconds or less conversation that we usually have these days. Crazy part is - I didn't care. I still kind of don't.

I mean, it would have been nice if you called as you do my sisters, but I know that is as unrealistic as believing you'll read this one day. One can only hope.

Until then,

Your daughter

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