Ever since I've been sick my birthday has taken a new meaning for me. I noticeably didn't write anything last year or the year before on or around my birthday. For the last couple of years I didn't want to celebrate it. I hardly wanted to celebrate anything.
But for the last 3 days I have been celebrating. Kind of.
On Saturday my two best friends had an impromptu lunch for me. Because it was planned last minute, only the two of them were available. But sometimes that's just what we need. Something simple but still wonderful. Because it was only the 3 of us, we were able to have a lovely 4 course lunch prepared by H.H. and have it in her beautiful garden. It was 3 hours of amazing food, lovely weather, and endless chatter about this and that - nothing heavy, nothing deep, just a wonderful relaxing morning/afternoon.
On Sunday I had dinner with my brother and sister's families and our parents. Funny. I don't ever remember celebrating my birthday (or theirs for that matter) as children. I guess we must have. But I just don't remember any birthday parties in any of our honour with our parents present. Granted during our childhood my parents were working 12 hour days 7 days a week. So our dinner was without much fanfare but again, it's what we are used to, anything else would seem contrived and uncomfortable.
Yesterday my children and husband celebrated with me. M1 bought me a thoughtful gift (with her own allowance money), and M2 & M3 wrote poems and drew pictures. Perhaps I got it wrong. Instead of fearing special days and avoiding celebrations, my focus should really be on creating happy & beautiful memories for my daughters.
Y.C.
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