Dear Diary, It's My Birthday; I Can Cry If I Want To.

It’s February and I’m like “How did we survive the year that was January 2021?” I’m thanking the Lord that I pushed through the chaos of a new year in my work and personal life, but now, I’m entering a month of emotional lows that surround my birthday.

Growing up, we were that family that ALWAYS celebrated a birthday. I mean there was no better experience than trying to come up with a theme with my mom regarding how I wanted to celebrate myself turning another year older and wiser. Let’s see…standouts include the Spice Girls cake I had for one of my elementary school birthdays, the time we rented out the entire skating rink and essentially invited the whole 8th grade class from Northside Middle School (Go Cougars), and the time my parents set up an outdoor movie theater for one of my high school birthday parties. As I got older, I realized that not every family celebrated birthdays to the extent that my family did, and for that, Mom and Dad, yall are the GOATs. Those memories are some that I’ll cherish forever.

You could say, that birthdays have always been a ‘holiday’ that I thoroughly enjoy. Well, until my grandfather passed away 4 days shy of my 25th birthday and was laid to rest on the day of my 25th birthday. The pain that came along with losing my Money Man blurred my expectations and thoughts on birthdays and celebrating another year of life. To be honest, I would have taken ten years off of my life just to give Chi-Chi ten more with us. Now, I don’t want this to be too depressing. The Diaz family knows how to celebrate a person’s life just as well as they know how to celebrate someone’s birthday. So not only did we eat, drink, laugh, and cry for Chi-Chi, we also had a birthday cake for me (my cousins and aunts are the best for setting that up amidst the chaos of that time). I mean we literally shut down the funeral home that night. Mom and I joke that they didn't know what the hell they were getting into when they agreed to let the Diaz's coordinate a 'reception' after the funeral.

For every birthday since I turned 25, I usually take the day to reflect by myself. I always write a letter to my Money Man, pick up lunch, and go eat at his grave. I read my letter to him; I cry to him; I pray and give thanks to God that I had as many wonderful years creating memories with him as I did. Wes used to drive me out there so that I could spend time with my Money Man. He never asked if I needed him, never bothered me with asking how I was feeling, never expected me to discuss what my letters said, never intruded on my time or space. He literally would just sit in the car, wait for me to finish having my time, and hold my hand on the way home. For that, I’m forever grateful. Wes had an uncanny way of knowing what I needed without ever asking and I miss that so much about him.

Last year was the first year I had ever spent without my grandfather or Wes by my side. Talk about a way to ring in your 28th year of life, as if that milestone wasn’t already totally fucking irrelevant on its own. I did my usual; I wrote my letters (one for Chi-Chi, one for Wes), picked up lunch, went and ate with Chi-Chi, and then went and visited Wesley. I cannot accurately put into words the range of emotions you feel on days like that when you’ve lost a loved one. I was thankful that I had made it through another year of life, thankful that I had the opportunity to know and love my grandfather, thankful that I had the opportunity to fall in love with my best friend, thankful that I got to experience a wonderful year of marriage, thankful that these two loving men knew each other on Earth and also now know each other in heaven. I was angry that they were taken from me, angry that my grandfather didn’t get to see me get married to Wes, angry that my husband who was younger than me was no longer alive, angry that we’d never see each other turn old and gray, angry that I even had to even put up with this bullshit of a life circumstance. I felt lonely and sad that I didn't have my best friend here to celebrate with a dinner at Longhorn, that I didn't get to call or visit my grandfather and discuss the outcome of the Super Bowl, that I didn't get to hear their voices tell me 'Happy Birthday' one more time. I was at peace knowing that these two knew how much their families and friends loved them, at peace with the fact that I’d been through two of the lowest points in my life and had come out on top, at peace with the fact that I’d continue each year of my life doing my best to live it in a way that would make both of them proud. I'm telling yall the emotions that your process while dealing with grief will fuck *clap* you *clap* up *clap*.

As I turn 29 this year, I’ll be dealing with all these emotions for the second time through. I’d be lying if I said my body wasn’t already processing this tidal wave of grief that hits this time of year. I have cried more the past week than I have the past three months. I’ve been struggling to find motivation and to stay concentrated with simple daily tasks. I’ve been extremely forgetful (more so than usual people…I know, SCARY). I’m anxious because I have no clue what to expect and this Enneagram 1 cannot handle that shit! But, it’s also sort of encouraging to know that I have this amazing crew of people behind me ready to celebrate if I am. I’ve already had numerous friends reach out to let me know that they are available to celebrate if I stray from my now usual, lonesome birthday. Those are some good ass friends (get you some, just don’t take mine). I think this birthday has been harder to swallow because I’m becoming acutely aware that time is moving on no matter how stuck my mind and heart feel. Does that make sense? No matter how much my heart hurts on certain days, time isn’t paused. No matter how much I pray that I find out what my purpose is by being dealt this shit, time isn’t paused. No matter how many great new memories I make with friends and family, time isn’t paused. How am I supposed to accept getting older when my future doesn’t look the way that I had planned on for 8 years? It’s not an easy pill, or slice of birthday cake, to swallow.

I have to continue to be hopeful that 29 will be a good year of life for me though. I hope I find a wonderful new place to call my own. I hope I continue to expand my knowledge and skill set with this new career I’ve started. I hope I get to travel to new places and experience new things. I hope I stay connected with the hundreds of people who have continued to encourage me to create new, happy memories. I HAVE to keep reminding myself that even though life has dealt me a shitty situation, that there is still life left to live (like literally have to talk to myself in the mirror about it some days). So, even though I’m unsure of what 29 holds for me (or 30, 40, or 72), I need to reassure myself that there are two DOPE guardian angels watching over me. There is no doubt in my mind that Chi-Chi will be taking a shot of tequila and Wes will be drinking a bourbon and coke to celebrate me. Cheers to 29 my men!

---

The Lord will keep you from all harm – he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. Psalm 121:7 – 8