March 3rd

Next Monday I turn 25.

Birthdays have always kind of been a big deal to me. It’s the one day a year that it’s all about you, you know? Every other day of the year it’s all about work, responsibilities, blah blah blah. But your birthday? It’s your one day to indulge yourself.

All my life I shared my birthday with my aunt Brenda. She always made our day special. We always went out to eat or had a party… she really knew how to savor it, make a big to-do about it. She also was a great gift giver. She LIVED to give gifts. She would spend so much time and money finding just the right ones. I think because her physical condition limited her so much, it was the one way she felt she could show she cared. One year she gave me a book called “If you give a mouse a cookie” to teach me a lesson about always wanting more.

I think I always really loved my birthday, because like Christmas, it was the only time my whole family would get together. There was a strong undercurrent of loathing in my family in those days, but for those two events everyone just put aside the bullshit and enjoyed each others company.

Her death, much like Christmas and our shared birthday was one of those things that brought us together. We all stayed at the hospital. We all took turns holding her hands. We all took turns waiting in the waiting room when we couldn’t all fit in her room. We all were there, together, for her last 3 days. And after she was gone, it was just different. My grandmother, who’s always been on the belligerent side, was suddenly subdued. The rift that seemed insurmountable for years between my mother and her younger sister Terri somehow melted away. Our hearts went out to my uncle and cousin who had lost a wife and a mother. It was a whole new perspective for the Gilliland crew.

So back to this year. This year on March 3rd, I turn the age that my mother was when she had me. This year I am a quarter of a century years old. This year I turn the age that for some reason has always represented “adulthood” in my mind. This year my secret joy has been and will be the many women who are teaching me lesson after lesson in listening, love, and the woman I want to be. This year I am loving my parents more than I ever thought I could. This year I am learning that the law will never assuage my fears. This year I will mourn for all the things I can’t change but want to. This year I will wait. This year I am sorry. This year, like every other year for the rest of my life, on the 3rd of March I will miss my aunt and will be thankful that for 21 years we shared a single, special day together and know that her death was one of the greatest gifts to me: it brought my family back together.