Birthday

 Well, I have a birthday tomorrow.  A big one - 70.

Not sure how I feel about this.  I've never been one to dread birthdays, and never understood why anyone would, given the alternative.

It's just that Bob and I used to be the same age.  Almost.  I was 6 weeks older.  Now I'm going to be three years and six weeks older.  I feel that I'm leaving him behind.

I used to take my birthdays off work whenever possible.  Now that I'm off work 5 days a week it doesn't seem as special - so I'm going to work tomorrow.

I wasn't big on presents, either.  After awhile you have enough stuff.  The one thing that I always asked for was breakfast in bed.  Even if Bob couldn't take the day off, he could plunk a sweet roll on a plate and pour a cup of tea and bring it to me, and I would finally get out of bed when I damn well felt like it.  Luxury.

I've tried doing that since I lost him, but it's not the same.  Along with putting a roll on a plate and pouring tea, Bob would take care of the critters.  Alone - getting up, feeding the cats and chickens, then fixing my breakfast and taking it back to bed just seemed to lack that luxury feeling.

Mostly I've been missing my Mom.  It would have been good to talk to her, and cry together.  She adored Bob.  And tomorrow will be the 10th anniversary of her passing.

I always liked the story of my nativity.  It was A Dark and Stormy Night, and Mom was about three weeks overdue with me.  After dinner she told Dad that she was going to have me that night.  No signs of labor, but she just knew.  So he took her to the hospital - who confirmed that there were no signs of labor, but checked her in anyway because the night was nasty and they might try to induce labor in the morning.

In the middle of the night, she rang for the nurse and said "it won't be long now."  The nurse checked her, said that she wasn't in labor, and that she would come back later.  About 45 minutes later Mom rang for the nurse again - because I had arrived.  So at my birth, around 2:45 in the morning, it was just the two of us.

60 years later, in the hospice house, around 2:45 in the morning, it was just the two of us as I held her hand and she stopped breathing.

Almost mythical, isn't it?

So - what's happening tomorrow?  I have no idea.  No breakfast in bed because I'm going to work.  People might remember and say Happy Birthday.  There might be treats.  Or they won't and there won't be.  I'm good either way.  FaceBook usually announces birthdays so I'll probably get some birthday wishes there.  Mike and Margo will likely call.

After work I'll head over to Gill's because she's making me a birthday cake.  I'm quite excited about that.  She is one hell of a baker, so it's going to be decadent and fancy - vanilla with toffee, a homemade dulce de leche filling, and, knowing her, it's going to be gorgeous.  I don't think I've ever had a fancy bespoke birthday cake before.

I might fix myself something nice for dinner - or I might just sit in a corner with my cake and a bottle of rum.  If the latter, it's good that I don't have anything planned for Thursday.