Birthday Blues

It’s hard being born on the most nefarious day in Anerican history. I was 4 in 2001, too young to grasp what was happening. But I’ve felt the pain of that day every year since then, every time the lady at the Y asks me to confirm my date of birth. I feel the horror of that day in my bones.

In high school I never had a good birthday. They were always ruined with videos of the Towers falling and people jumping to their deaths. One year our soccer team lost to the worst team in the league. My mom brought cupcakes to the benches to celebrate my birthday. My birthday is innocence wrapped in terror.

The past few years I’ve had some really good birthdays. I thought my cold spell was finished, but not quite. I was sick most of the day, battling a fever and nausea. I couldn’t do things I wanted like run or do yoga because I had no energy. I couldn’t even eat my favorite foods because my stomach was in knots. No cake today.

I used to say my birthday was the worst day of the year. Today felt like that, until my family came to visit, have dinner, and cheered me up. I’m glad I can count on people so loving to be my cornerstone.

Gratitude must be my birth star this year. It’s the only way forward.