For me birthdays have never been that special. I don’t mean that to come off in a sad or poor me kind of way. But, just like how the beginning of a new year tends to mark a set of resolutions that people give up on by month three, that is how I have felt about my birthday for several years now. It doesn’t live up to its expectations. On a birthday we are one year older, and we are also leaving a younger year behind. For many of us, I think we hope we learned something. I think we tend to hold on to the “promise” that the following year will be our best year yet. I come to the end of a birth year, often times, wondering when I’ll actually accomplish something. My life has never had things happen in order. I’ve been told that I grew up too fast, half by circumstance and half by choice. I don’t agree. I think I mostly had no choice. At a certain point, my life took a turn. It slowed down in many ways after I had my son. In other ways, my life also fast forwarded because now he is three and my daughter is about to be two months old and I can still remember what it felt like when it was only me that I had to worry about. The future was so unknown and I never saw any of this coming. I used to jokingly say that my life felt like it was being written for me like a tv drama. Something always happened. Something was always coming.  

This year was no different, except that it was. I realized that the isolation I had grown to accept and lived in for the past three years since moving to Florida was not a normal choice. People everywhere were being forced to stay home and for some that meant being kept away from the ones they loved. It was something that was mandated to keep them safe, whereas, I had chosen to leave home. I was here because I had said okay and I had said I do. I was here because I had started a relationship that quickly turned into having a family and a life away from everything I had ever known. I had gained so much only to lose just as much in the process. I found a lifetime’s worth of love in another person. I had dreamed of becoming a mother my whole life. I had always wanted to leave Chicago. I got everything that I could ever want, except that in order to have it, I would have to experience it alone. In order to become a mom, my personal goals and plans would have to wait. Don’t misunderstand me and think that I am just here complaining. Trust me, that I would do it again. I promise, given the chance, every single time, my life would lead me here. I’m just sharing that even though my life has always moved fast, it didn’t mean that I was ready. It didn’t mean that I was strong enough to handle it at the time or that I didn’t have to choose to leave some things behind when I did. I did what I had to do to keep going. This year, during this terrible pandemic, when I realized some people were resisting so hard against being kept alone at home, isolated and suffering, and very much vocally doing so, I instantly felt distraught and then became angry. I had been trying to convince myself for the last three years that this was all okay. I didn’t need other people. I had my husband and my kids. I could text my friends and we could send each other videos. I didn’t have time to make new friends and to be honest, I really didn’t want to. I also didn’t feel like going out most days. I told myself that it wasn’t worth the effort to experience anything outside of the four walls of my home. Whenever I flew to back to Chicago and visited home, I carried on like I was still the same person that I had been when I had left, even when I knew that wasn’t true. This year wasn’t very different from the last for me and that was a tough pill to swallow. It was a hard thing to admit that I had slowly been giving up on all the things that could have possibly made me feel less alone or happy here. This year brought no longer having a choice. We had to stay home and I was glad to do it if it meant keeping people safe, but for many others, like my dad, it marked the beginning of the end. I know that I don’t owe anyone an explanation, but I will say that whatever was ultimately the cause of my father’s death, it was loneliness that took his life first. 

Tomorrow, I turn 30. It’s a scary number for me and I’m not entirely sure why. I guess being thirty, feeling lost, and I am still struggling, briefly sums it up. So much has happened and so much is about to change yet again, as we finally get to leave Florida behind and move on. I have much to look forward to. I have an amazing husband. I have two beautiful kids and three endlessly loving dogs. I have a daughter who will be making memories with her father like I did with mine and every time that I am there to witness, it will fill and break my heart at the same time. No matter what comes, I am blessed to have another year of life. I am thankful to be living and to be given the chance to make the most of what I have no matter the circumstance.  

My dad would have been one of, if the not the first, to wish me Happy Birthday. He would have wanted a video call and sang to me if I allowed it. He would have reassured me that becoming 30 is nothing and that I still have a lifetime ahead of me. He would have said Abobo which was his way of telling me that he loved me, something that he always said any chance that he got. I would have said Abobo too and I can only hope that he’d believe it. I can only wish that he knows now just how much I loved him and how much I will always love him for the rest of my life.

Thank you, Daddy, for showing me what unconditional love looked like so that when I found it I would know to never let it go.