Today is the day. The day I was born. More than half a century ago! Whoa! This day is a complete cluster for me. There is a whole melancholy thing that happens that no one can fix. Quips of "just celebrate yourself!" sound so cliché. Included in these cliches are things like.... "just forgive yourself already" and "you are worth it" and "but you're a good person!" Blah. There is that part. Now, there is also the whole holiday let down thing that happens when you have really high expectations of something and reality cannot live up to the hype. I have that to deal with also. Because in case you don't know, my dad was the party guy. He LOVED a good party. You know, once upon a time ago, he was a party guy, heavy drinker, etc. But that was lifetimes ago. For most of my life, party meant any large gathering of people. My dad was a "the-more-the-merrier" guy. Ha! Even in the hospital as he languished, he'd say things like, "I'm super! All of you are here just to see me, I am doing great...." I didn't recognize this for a long time, but my dad, he was really incredible at practicing gratitude. He was so content and grateful with whatever life handed him. "It is a beautiful day." "God is so good." "Would you look at that sunset?!" "Oh, my girls are here, life is soooo good!" How are you doing Pop? "oh.... I'm pretty good. Your mom is taking good care of me, and your uncle Rod is going to take me fishing..." Does it (whatever the current injury might be) still hurt? "oh.... yeah. It hurts all the time. But don't you worry about me Doll, I'm doing good. Now that you're here, I'm great."
It's weird, all the smooshing together of memories and drama and trauma and logic and analysis. Just weird. And it makes perfect sense and makes no sense at all.
Every year, I battle emotion anywhere from melancholy all the way to the trainwreck-wish-I-was-never-born extreme. I try really hard not to have expectations. In life in general. Toward my birthday in particular.
Being born on a holiday is not all it's cracked up to be. As a kid, parties were hard. Classmates were busy doing things with family, with church groups, at the lake, at big 4th of July celebrations.
The anniversary of my birth is a complex cluster fuck. And I do better and I do worse. But I commence to party with caution because I know that lurking in the shadows is a death wish, a spirit, a monster. It might rear its ugly head at any moment. I try not to live holding my breath in fear, but I also try not to forget that there's a dark force at work in regard to my birth and the celebration thereof. I try to remember that it's a thing. But it's just a thing. And this too shall pass.
