Happy Birthday
Oh, I have been slaving in the kitchen for hours! I take a breath and look at the three-layer double fudge chocolate cake that I have been working on. It’s gorgeous, I think to myself. I catch a glimpse of the calendar as I get started with the clean-up. Today’s box is empty. I hurt, but I don’t let myself admit this. I dismiss my negative thoughts immediately and continue to prepare for my birthday celebration.
I call my family though I know they’re not coming down. My husband would be in his office room, drowning himself in his work with only good ol’ Mr. Johnny Walker to keep him company. My daughter would be in her bedroom doing who-knows-what, playing punk music so loud that I’m surprised she hasn’t gone deaf yet. It makes me feel sad when I think of this; do I not matter to my own family? Do I not matter to the people who matter the most to me?
Thirty-six years. I grab some candles and brush up on my math skills: today is my 36th birthday and I have eighteen candles, which makes to one candle for every two years. I set up the candles and start lighting them one by one.
I freeze as I reach my ninth candle: 18 years old. I had just gotten married the year before and I was then pregnant with my first and only child. We had a rough ride to get to where we were, with still a few bumps every now and then, but I can honestly tell you that I was the happiest woman. I was a soon-to-be-mom with a very loving and dedicated husband. I was on top of the world.
14 candles: 28 years old. My father-in-law had died from a heart attack. Nobody saw it coming and it took everybody by shock. My husband took it the hardest. He and his dad had a complex relationship. He spent most of his childhood life trying to make his dad proud, but my father-in-law wouldn’t even give a smile. My husband finally got the guts to stand up for himself and stopped following orders from his father. They stopped talking to each other soon after we were married. I can’t say that his father didn’t like me, for he never gave me a chance, but I was clearly not part of his plans for his son. I had become the breaking point of their relationship. When my father-in-law passed away, I felt as though I lost my husband as well. When I told him the news about his father’s death, he couldn’t even look at me. I seemed to remind him of the missed opportunities to have made things right. He began hiding behind his work. He has never looked at me the same again.
17 candles: 34 years old. My daughter and I became close as we only had each other to talk to in the house. At some point she started becoming distant, and I did not do anything to keep us close together. I simply thought, she was a teenager and all of them go through this. One night I came into her room to do some cleaning when I came across a packet of cocaine. As soon as she came home I started yelling at her, I was filled with rage and disappointment: where did I go wrong as a parent, I wondered, not knowing that it was at that point exactly. She yelled right back at me, and since then I was cut off from her life.
All 18 candles are lit. I am now 36 years old. I have a husband who can’t bear to look me in the eye, and a daughter who has cut me out of her life. There isn’t anybody around to talk to, to laugh with, or just to share everyday experiences with. I only have myself to blame.
The candles are the only lights left in the room. I take a deep breath and blow them out, but I miss one. I hesitate to put it out. It is half-melted and deformed enough to form a curve-like figure, although it looks like it could go on forever. I smile to myself and blow it out of its misery.
19:34 ¬ 07.12.04