My birthday is next week. I am going to turn twenty-seven which is . . .odd.
Odd because I always think of my sister as being twenty-seven which means I am twenty-three and if I am twenty-seven then are we twins? Obviously math is hard. I am not crazy about turning twenty-seven. Not because I think it is old, because I don't and it isn't. But because my birthday is six months to the day from when Gladys died. That I am turning a year older and she never will again just feels wrong. There is just a lot of emotion tied up in that day and none of it has to do with my birthday.
My friend isn't coming back. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever. I cannot talk to her, I cannot ask her advice, I cannot make her come back. The past six months have brought new jobs, new houses, good news and bad news. My life is moving forward and hers is not. I can accept this, I have accepted it.
But I think I can be forgiven for wanting to skip the anniversary of her death. Even if that means that my birthday gets lost in the process.