Two years ago on your 57th birthday I sent you our favorite cake in the form of cupcakes, wedged between foil in Tupperware containers. Dad put a pink candle in one and took a picture of you holding it. I love that picture, despite how bittersweet it felt even a month later.
It seems funny that I only spent 29 of your 57 birthdays with you. I always did have a hard time believing you existed before me. Despite how narcissistic that may sound, I had not seen a single day in this world without you until last September. It was impossible for me to believe I'd never have another.
And still, it is the thought that crushes me, just as it was the fear of it so soon after that 57 birthday. When I can stay in the sun of a warm November day or get lost in a memory of you smiling, laughing, and living, I am with you again. I can celebrate with you again today as we've done for so many years. And I can feel your excitement and pure joy in knowing that your granddaughter will be a big sister sometime next summer. Our little family, the one I feared would certainly shatter when you left us, is growing Mom! You have a son-in-law and he and I have a new niece, born the Friday after our wedding. And our wedding... Mom, you were everywhere!
And so I will celebrate your 59th birthday today with you while I bake the white cake with chocolate frosting, sprinkles, and pink candles. And I will stay with you here in today, just as it is, so I can spend one more November 14th with the person I still cannot imagine living without.
