I had a birthday this past week. 51. 5-1. I lived to tell the tale! I had a very nice week, filled with friendship, excellent wine, fabulous food and celebrations. I received some nice gifts too! The best one might have been a home cooked meal. Seriously. A meal that I did not have to cook, complete with dessert! mmmm…Happy birthday to me!
Friday morning, a reminder popped up on my phone first thing:
Yes, that was, and still is, my pet name for my mother. I said the “F” word and threw my phone down. Then I cried a little. I’m not really sure why I cried. Sadness at what was never there? Anger for what was? I’m not sure. I promptly put it out of my mind.
Saturday morning I got a message from my brother:
“First thing when grabbing my phone I check FB. 1st notification: Today is (insert mother’s name) birthday. Help her to celebrate it. 70 years old. Fuck.”
I laughed. I messaged him back that I got a reminder yesterday. Then I called him and told him I’d never heard him use that word before.
We laughed about how the reminders made us react. I guess that’s healthy? Are we healing? He said he always remembers hers and the father’s birthdays because they are double digits. Hers is 10-22. The father’s is 11-11. Then he realized that 11×2=22. We laughed some more. Then I said, “This takes their whole co-dependent thing to a new level!”
We then decided that we were going to file this and get on with our days. His daughter had just arrived with his new grandson, and he was going to go be the amazing grampa that he is. I relaxed, snuggled with the cats, and had a nice day as well.
We have now survived the first Mother’s Day and first birthday. We’re getting better at it I think. I try really hard not to let her have any of my glitter anymore.
PS, anyone know how to disable a FB profile that no one knows the login or password to?