There was a time when I understood that my birthday would probably not be remembered. I was a child. It hurt dreadfully. Sometimes I did things to remind people it was coming. Gradually, as time passed, I got used to being an afterthought. I knew my birthday would be remembered at the last moment if at all, a cake of sorts would be thrown together, and everyone in my family would work really hard to pretend they had planned it days, weeks, even months in advance.
I lived many years in resentment.
High school was different. I had friends who remembered. They gave me hugs and cards, sometimes a small gift. I made a new friend when I was a Sophomore. She was a year younger than I and was the youngest child of a large, wealthy family. My Junior year of high school, when we had been friends for a year, she asked me what I was given for my birthday. I told her, without expression, that my birthday was usually forgotten. It was a family tradition. She was shocked. My very dramatic, emotional friend let me know that forgetting a child's birthday was unforgivable. I laughed and we went to lunch.
The next day, she came to see me. She had presents. Everyone needs presents, she said. One cannot have a birthday without presents. They were not expensive. There was a small bottle of perfume, some fun pens and a fabric-covered notepad, and a few other tiny but fun items to warm a 16-year-old heart. She was so excited that I would have gifts that year.
She doesn't know that after she left, I cried happy tears because she remembered me, and she cared. And then I cried bitter tears because my life felt terribly lonely. I wanted my parents, my family, to care that I was born. But she had changed me a bit. I held onto that tiny notepad for decades. It reminded me that no matter the message I received from my parents, birthdays are important. MY birthday was important.
So I spent years celebrating with those who cared to join me. Interestingly, Aaron's family always remembered. I received calls and cards and gifts - always sent with love in celebration of me. I let my family know that it wasn't okay to be forgotten. My dad pretended it was just funny (it wasn't). My mom said I was exaggerating (I wasn't). But my sisters said they would remember (they did).
Today, though, I'm thinking. I believe my high school friend. Birthdays are important. I don't forget the birthdays of those who are important to me. And I should not have been forgotten. I think I'll always feel sad that I never felt valued in my family. But I don't feel resentment anymore. I'm a pretty terrific person. My parents missed out on celebrating me too many times. No cards or communications in college. Even when, as an adult, I lived three blocks away from them, my husband, children, and friends sent flowers, took me to dinner, called me, and celebrated my day, my parents were silent unless my mother remembered belatedly and called to wish me a happy birthday before bed. Occasionally, she'd try to give me a gift, but it was often clear that what was given hadn't really been selected with me in mind (seriously, when you eat half a loaf of bread from the farmer's market, then give me the other half, it isn't really a gift no matter how good it might taste - it's an afterthought, and a bad one).
I've never posted my birth date on Facebook. I wanted only greetings from people who cared enough to remember. But most of the time, someone who knew would write a greeting on my page, and other people would chime in. It made me smile.
It is nearly 11am on my birthday. I've actually posted something that points to it being my day. Thus far, my daughter has remembered. My nephew has remembered. But no one else. There are no random people sending me birthday greetings on Facebook. I'm struck by the difference in how I feel about it now.
The truth is, I'm amazing. I've been through many difficulties, and I think I did so with as much grace and success as anyone could ask. I've survived abuse, rape, assault, an eating disorder, and zero self-esteem. And I've been brave enough to do therapeutic work that continues today so that I can be the person who will support my children and love my husband. I've tried to maintain healthy friendships. I've obtained three college degrees. I've worked in many jobs and met many people. In short, I'm pretty happy with the person I am. And while it would be lovely if I could be celebrated on my day by others, I'm joyful in celebrating myself.
Happy birthday, me. I'm so glad you were born, and I'm very happy that you continue to LIVE.
