One Trip Around The Sun

Today's my birthday.

I've been trying to figure out how to write this one, because it feels different than any birthday I've ever had.

This is my first one without my dad.

That's a sentence I never thought I'd type. And yet, here we are.

If you had told me a year ago, on my last birthday, that this is where I'd be right now, I don't know what I would have said. Probably nothing useful. Because you can't really prepare for how much one year can change. You just live it. And then look back and go, wait, how did we get here?

I've been thinking about that a lot this week. What one trip around the sun can do to a person. A family. A body.

Because in a lot of ways, I'm not the same person I was last October.

I'm still grieving. I'm still learning how to hold love and loss at the same time. I'm still helping my mom through this. I'm still figuring out what our family looks like now, without him at the center of it.

And in the middle of all of that, life keeps going. My kid still needs breakfast. Work is still moving. Perimenopause still shows up like it doesn't care what I'm processing (because it doesn't). Birthdays still arrive whether you're ready or not.

There's this thing my brain does now where I want to skip past this stage. Like, hurry up and get to the version of me on the other side of this. My impatient ass is very ready to be done with this part.

But I don't get to skip it. None of us do.

So today, I'm not doing the big birthday thing. I'm just here. Grateful. Sad. Slightly caffeinated. Trying to make it a soft day. Reading the messages coming in from all of you (thank you, truly). Eating something my dad would have liked. Maybe crying at some point, maybe laughing at Taco Bell (ifykyk), maybe both in the same hour.

One year is a lot. And also nothing at all.

Whatever season you're in reading this, I hope you're being a little soft with yourself too.