How To Have A Birthday When Your Mom Is Dead: A Step-By-Step Guide
Step 1: Start by feeling really sorry for yourself. That’s what I did. Did it help anything? Not at all. Did it need to happen? Absolutely. Cause guess what? I feel really fucking sorry for myself. I want everyone else to feel sorry for me too. It doesn’t matter that I am a therapist who’s typically emotionally mature and evolved…when it comes to this (the dead mom of it all) I am a freaking toddler. I am lost in the mall yelling for my mom.
Step 2: Be moderately rude to everyone that loves you because they’re definitely not celebrating you “right”— This step is really important. You have to make sure everyone else feels confused and unhappy too. My partner is so wonderful and really prioritizes my happiness (as I do his)—but when it comes to my birthday he really can’t get it perfectly right—because guess what? Mom is still dead. So, he does his best and he did a great job and he probably still went to bed feeling like he dropped the ball a bit even though he absolutely did not. You also have to make sure that everyone knows that your mom is still dead and your birthday still sucks even when people are doing their best to make it special and lovely. My mom is the only person on this planet who cared more about my birthday than me—and again, let me remind you, she died.
Step 3: Experience pockets of joy. This step is as important as the previous 2. I am not saying that the whole day is good and fun—that’s just unrealistic, people. But I did allow myself to have moments of joy and many moments of feeling so loved. Turning 38 is fun—I think I really like the late 30’s of it all. And what did I do with all this late 30’s energy you ask? Well, I went to Ikea with my best friend and bought things I don’t need. I made a point to say out loud to her, “I am so happy we did this.” Mind you, the lead up to “doing this” consisted of me being mad at her for not making a plan for my bday. See: step 2.
Step 4: Decide the day is over whenever you want! For me that meant getting on my bed at 6:50 pm and watching tiktoks until it was appropriate to get in the bed at 8 pm. For you that might look different, but the point is that you get to choose when this day is over. You can also do what I am doing and decide that it might be my bday for the next week depending on my mood. Again, it’s vital that the one’s that love you most are wildly confused about what you want and need in order to make this special—or tolerable.
To add major insult to injury, my mom’s birthday is coming up and her death day is 2 days after that. June is a real party for me.
This is all to say, I really miss my mom. She would have wanted to celebrate the day she brought me into this world—so I did my best. I reread cards she wrote me, listened to bday voicemails, cried, felt pathetic, enjoyed feeling pathetic, got mad at everyone who has a mom, felt lame for feeling so hateful, took note of the people who didn’t wish me a happy birthday, realized the only reason they have wished me a happy birthday in the past is because my mom reached out to them to remind them, felt sorry for myself again because no one cares about your birthday quite like your mom. This is only my second birthday without my mom, so maybe this list will change and evolve as I change and evolve. Here’s what I know about grief: nothing is permanent. It doesn’t get easier. It gets different. Time doesn’t heal. Time just changes the vantage point a bit.
If your mom is still here (and you like her) give her a hug and a squeeze and relish in all the birthdays you get to have with her. Let her embarrass you and sing to you. It’s really her day after all.
Happy Birth Day, mom. Very rude of you to die.
