49

I had a birthday.

Another one you were not here for. The third one actually.

I am 49.  An age you never saw for yourself. One age before the big one...50.

You were dreading getting older, you spoke of it often in the months before you died. I could tell you were going to be one of those people who got depressed over the progression of time. You were a sensitive and troubled soul.

You told me often you were going to die young. It wasn't until after the third or so time that I started to take notice for real. For me it was hurtful. Why would you keep telling me such a thing after I just found you again and committed the rest of my life to you. It's not like you were gently trying to warn me of what to expect in the near future.  It was more like 'woe is me...I'm not long for this world'.  Once I yelled at you about it.  Remember?

I had finally had enough of hearing it.  "Would you please stop saying that?  You say it all the time, too much actually. Are you trying to hurt my feelings?  Because that is what you are doing every time you say that.  It would kill me if it happened okay?  So just stop saying it".  Then I left the room and stood at the sink and washed a few glasses.  You came up behind me and hugged me for dear life and said "I'm sorry".  That was it. End of conversation.

And then you did. You freaking fracking frocking did. Just wow.

So now I am 49, which you never were, and I have been dreaming for a week of everyone dying. I never dream but now I am and it's only of death.

Happy Birthday to me!