I miss my Mother most on my birthday. It just doesn't seem right to celebrate without her. And yet those around me seem to think it's the day I most want to celebrate, and so I'm surrounded by cards, and gifts and well wishers. This year was different, however. I invited some friends for a meal out the week before my birthday, so that I could hide away on the actual day. And it worked, mostly. Only Dad caught me in the afternoon, a quick cup of tea and a slice of cake. That was nice.
The best part of the day? Mr B bringing home an Indian meal take-away, and snuggling on the sofa. The next day, things returned to normal.
All day long, Mom's little poem to me on my 8th birthday, went round and round in my head:
'To Lesley Dawn, my first born,
Fills me with love every morn.
Hope she'll be happy as a bee -
Til the day she goes from me.'
I have decreed that there will be no more birthday celebrations until I turn 50, when I will surely be grown-up enough to deal with it.