Monday, October 28, 2013

Doing the math.


Today I "celebrated" my 41st birthday.

I wouldn't go as far as to call it a celebration, but I allowed myself to recognize that today I turned another year older. And while doing so I recognized that my father is no longer going to share in my birthdays in years to come.

Or today.

Today I count the minutes as my special day ends. I watch the clock and wait for midnight so it doesn't have to be my birthday anymore.

I don't want cake. No singing.

The happy birthday wishes feel hollow.

I know they are meant with love, but they drift through the air just the same.

I hugged my mom, my brother, my niece. My daughter's extra g-ma.

But no daddy. No Pops. No Zeide for me to hug on my special day.

I missed his arms. His scent. His laugh. His easy-going, nonchalant way of moving forward.

I turn forty-one and he forever stays sixty-six.

It is not fair.

It will never feel fair.

I should not be celebrating without him. And yet, I do. I did. I have.

Not a celebration, per se. But a moment or two of smiles. Stale cookies (yes, again), yummy chocolates, an iced chai (thanks to an old friend), an iced coffee (thanks to my little brother), and an ice cream pop cheers with my Momma.

Happy birthday.

Those words seem so different to me now. Last time around forty was full of potential. So much love, hope, strength, inspiration. It is all still there, but it hides behind loss, heartache, pain and a softer, gentler, yet more intense kind of love.

I shared my birthday with my Momma, and together we missed my Daddy.

And each day will bring me closer to my very own next birthday. And farther away from his last one. But I will carry the memories and the moments with me always. And forever.

And I will look at my husband and daughter and smile, because they are what means so much.

And then I will remember moments like these, and laugh, even if I am not truly ready yet.

Because I know, deep down, that somewhere, he is thinking that this is what I must do. Smile. Feel loved. Feel blessed. And keep on moving forward.

So, forty-one, here I come.


  1. Have been thinking of you non-stop and yesterday was no different. When FB told me it was your birthday, I felt a tug at my heart. I remember my sister "celebrating" her birthday just 2 weeks after our mother died. Bittersweet does not begin to cover it. Sending you love Andrea. Today and always.-Ashley

  2. Ugh, Andrea, this is so beautifully sad and poignantly written. I know it doesn't help but I think that the legacy that your dad has left, the love you feel and the way you are sharing that love with the entire blog world, really means something. And I know that you are reaching people out there & they are reaching back. Lots of hugs to you.

  3. I just wish I could reach out have give you a hug.

  4. Babe, I have no words...just so much love. So so much love.

  5. HUGS my friend. Reading this, I was glad you and your mom got to spend this day together.

  6. Oh sweetie, I am so sorry to hear about your dad. I have been sleepwalking through life in the past two weeks, absorbed in what was going on in my own life, and missed your sad, sad news. I am so sorry, I have no words. Happy birthday my friend – may peace and happiness find their way back to you very, very soon. HUGS


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