happy birthday, buncy

it's something my mother would have said when i was a child.

birthdays are such funny things. this is perhaps the first one where i don't really give a damn about what i do. last year i got all worked up because i invited a bunch of folks to come out and no one did. but not this year. i just want my 3 best friends for dinner out somewhere.

i also want to avoid receiving a package from mom. every year since our estrangement, she sends a box of something she has hand-knit. i cleaned a closet out last night, and found a scarf, a shawl, and a hooded sweater in a box that she sent over the years. i guess the progress is that i didn't immediately rebox them. i put the sweater on. it made me feel weird. wrong. like i could put it on, and think of her, and no one would have to know but me. i wouldn't have to admit to it out loud. i wouldn't have to admit that i like the idea that she made it with her own hands, and she held it, and she sent it with love. i wouldn't have to admit that i wanted that in some small way.

but i guess you're always the little girl you used to be, and you never really get over wanting your mommy. even when you're 28, and still unable to make peace with the fact that she's never coming back.

i have only one birthday wish: that this be a better year for me emotionally. because my heart hurts.