with my name on it, everything I thought had ended quietly began once more.
When I was young, I used to smile at people who said birthdays made them sad.
I thought it was just dramatic talk, like sighing too loudly or wearing sunglasses indoors.
Back then, birthdays meant cake—chocolate cake—and that meant life felt good.
But now I understand.
These days,continue reading …
birthdays make the air feel heavier. It’s not just the candles, the quiet house, or the ache in my knees. It’s the knowing that comes only after you’ve lived long enough to lose people who once seemed permanent.
Today is my 85th birthday.
Like every year since Steed passed, I got up early and made myself presentable.
I brushed my thinning hair into a continue reading …
