Dear Mom,

Today I am 30. I didn't have class today, so I slept in until 12:30. It is 1:30 now, and Steve is still in bed. I am having breakfast of honey mustard and onion pretzels (they make me think of you) and Dr. Thunder. I may get my picture taken later, but probably not. I may go to Shady Maple for dinner, but I'm not sure. I have looked forward to this day for more than a decade and now that it is here, I'm like a dog that finally caught a car. I have no idea what to do with it.

Besides, it's just another day since you left. I wanted to spend it with you, Momma. I wanted you to cook me dinner like always (this year I want Chicken Paprika) and make me a birthday cake (Texas Cake, like always) and sing to me with your beautiful voice. God, I wish I could hear you sing again, even just "Happy Birthday".

How can I celebrate? How can I find the Happy in my Birthday? I have almost 40 birthday greetings on Facebook so far today, and I expect a handful more before the day is out. Jerri will call, and I'll stop by to visit with Dad and Mel and Julie. Everyone wants me to have a happy day and I'm trying, I really am, but it's so hard.

I have started therapy again, and I like my therapist. She's older and tattooed and she seems sassy. You'd like her, too. She lost her mom a few years ago, so she really knows where I'm coming from, which is helpful. Maybe if I can cry out all of my sadness and anger and disappointment I can find my joy again. Maybe if I go to the bottom of my grief, I can push off of it and find the surface. Maybe then I can stop drowning in it. All I know is that you should be here, and you aren't and I hurt now.

Happy Birthday to me. Thank you for giving me the world. It was and is the best gift ever. I'm here, and that's enough for now.

Love,
Mandy