By Alison
“The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.”
— Irving Berlin
Trying to Remember My Age
As the years have passed, I mostly don’t remember how old I am when someone asks. I usually have to do a quick math equation in my head just to come up with the number 42. For some reason, the number doesn’t just roll off my tongue anymore the way it used to when I was younger.
However, if my kids are standing next to me—especially my daughter—she will loudly shout out the number before I can even finish my mental calculation. It’s almost like she enjoys beating me to the answer, as if it’s some kind of family game. And then there I am, laughing a little, realizing once again that time has quietly continued moving forward whether I’m paying attention or not.
As I sit here writing this, I keep hearing a remake of a song lyric in my head: “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to.” Except in my version, the word party has been replaced with birthday.
“It’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I want to.”
The funny thing is, I’m not even sure if that lyric makes me laugh or makes me tear up. Maybe a little bit of both.
When Birthdays Used to Be Different
Ever since my husband passed away, I haven’t found the same delight in celebrating my birthday. I should find it fun, especially since my birthday falls on March 16—the day before St. Patrick’s Day. It used to be the perfect setup for a celebration.
Back then it was practically a three-day event. There was the night before, the day of my birthday, and then of course St. Patrick’s Day itself. It was the perfect excuse to gather with friends, eat good food, laugh too loud, and celebrate life.
But I was so used to celebrating my birthday with my husband. Actually, I should say our birthday. We shared the same birthdate.
It always felt like something special that belonged just to us. Every year I tried to make the day meaningful for him—not because I had to, but because I genuinely wanted to. I loved him. I wanted him to feel special. I wanted him to know how much he was appreciated.
Sometimes that meant baking something he loved. Other times it meant recreating a recipe that had meaning to our relationship. There were Dr Pepper cupcakes. Cupcakes from the baker who made our wedding cake. Chicken and dumpling soup. And whatever else I could find that would be meaningful to both his heart and his stomach.
Food was always a love language in our home. It wasn’t just about eating—it was about creating moments. And birthdays were full of those moments.
The First Birthday Without Him – 2022
Every year since his death, I’ve tried doing something different on my birthday—our birthday. The truth is, I haven’t really figured out what would give me joy on my own. For so many years the joy came from watching him enjoy the day.
The first birthday after his death was March 16, 2022. My friends sent me an Edible Arrangements fruit basket. And while I truly appreciated the thought behind it, my honest reaction surprised even me.
I hated it. Not because it wasn’t kind. Not because it wasn’t thoughtful. But because it was a reminder. A reminder that it was my birthday. A reminder that I wasn’t celebrating his birthday. A reminder that the day that once belonged to both of us now felt like it only belonged to me. And there was also some guilt lingering that he wasn’t here, and I was. And somehow that felt incredibly lonely.
I’ve never been very good at receiving. Which is interesting, because life is always talking about balance—the balance between giving and receiving. Yet receiving has never felt natural to me. I did eat all the fruit though. Every piece. But I’m not entirely sure if I ate it with enjoyment or if I ate it while sitting with the quiet ache of grief. Maybe it was a little bit of both.
A Brief History of Birthdays
At one point I found myself wondering where birthday celebrations even came from in the first place. Who made up this idea of celebrating ones’ birth? Where did the presents come from? Why does everyone look forward to getting one year older or to some one year closer to death?
For most of human history, birthdays actually weren’t celebrated the way we celebrate them today. In ancient civilizations like Egypt, birthdays were reserved for kings and rulers. It wasn’t so much about celebrating the person’s birth, but about honoring the day they became a god or a ruler.
Later, the ancient Greeks adopted the idea and began celebrating birthdays with offerings to the goddess Artemis. They would bake round cakes to resemble the moon and place candles on them so the smoke could carry their prayers upward.
It’s interesting when you think about it. Even thousands of years ago, birthdays weren’t just about getting older. They were about acknowledging life, marking time, and recognizing that a person’s existence mattered.
Eventually the tradition evolved. The Germans are often credited with creating the modern children’s birthday celebration in the 1700s with something called Kinderfeste, where cakes and candles became part of the celebration.
Over time, birthdays became less about kings and gods and more about ordinary people. People like us. People celebrating another year of living.
And maybe that’s the real meaning behind birthdays—not the cake or the parties, but simply recognizing that a life has continued another year.
Pretending It Was Just Another Day – 2023
The following year, in 2023, I decided to approach the day differently. Instead of acknowledging it, I tried to make the day feel like any other normal day. I scheduled routine appointments. I got an oil change. I met with my daughter’s teacher. I filled the day with errands and responsibilities.
My hope was that if the day looked ordinary, maybe it would feel ordinary too. I didn’t want it to be special. I just wanted it to be a day. But grief doesn’t work that way.
Did I cry? Did I feel sorry for myself? Absolutely. Did I sit quietly and wonder how my life had ended up looking so different than I ever imagined? Absolutely.
Sometimes the hardest part about grief isn’t the big emotional moments. Sometimes it’s the quiet realization that life has moved into a chapter you never asked to read.
Trying Something New – 2024
In 2024 I decided to try celebrating in a different way. I met some of my childhood friends at a St. Patrick’s Day 5K. It felt good to be around people who had known me long before life became complicated.
After the race, I went out for a beer and a hamburger. Yes, I said ‘I’ – solo – just me. Now, did I intentionally go out by myself? No. I was actually supposed to meet a guy I had been talking to. Did he show up? No, he didn’t. Let’s just say that situation wrapped itself up very quickly.
But honestly, it didn’t ruin my day. I’ve never really minded eating by myself at the bar. There’s something oddly peaceful about it. You can sit quietly, watch people come and go, and just exist for a moment without expectations.
That year my birthday actually landed on St. Patrick’s Day celebrations, which made it prime time for people watching. And let me tell you—there is no better people watching than St. Patrick’s Day.
Realizing Life Has Changed – 2025
In 2025, one of my friends reluctantly agreed to go to a daytime St. Patrick’s Day event with me while the kids were at school. Part of me wanted to relive what those holidays used to feel like when I lived in Raleigh. Back then the celebrations felt big, loud, and full of energy. I wanted to step back into that feeling. I wanted to embrace the holiday fully and soak up every bit of it.
But as the day unfolded, I realized something important. This isn’t my life anymore. That version of my life belonged to a different chapter. And honestly, this isn’t the scene I want to be in anymore. The noise. The crowds. The chaos.
At some point I found myself asking a quiet question: Did I finally grow up? Is this what it feels like to be old? Or maybe life simply grew me in a different direction.
Learning a New Way to Celebrate
Throughout all of these years—even while I tried to recreate a feeling that once existed, or pretend the day didn’t exist at all—my family continued to gently remind me that my birthday still mattered. Especially my mother.
Without fail she would get a cake, gather the family, and make sure the family sang “Happy Birthday.” Every year. Even when I didn’t feel like celebrating.
And even though I appreciated it, that familiar sunken feeling always sat quietly inside of me. Part of it is still that same truth. I’m not very good at receiving. But I’m trying.
And little by little I’m learning that receiving love from others doesn’t take away from the love that is missing. Both can exist at the same time.
A Different Kind of Birthday
These days I try to acknowledge the day differently. I speak to him. I remind the children that it’s their father’s birthday, while they happily remind me how old I am. And together we sing “Happy Birthday” to him too.
We celebrate his life. Because without him, our little family wouldn’t exist. Our children wouldn’t be here. Many of the memories that shape who we are today would never have been created. The love we built together still echoes through our lives in ways that are impossible to measure.
So yes, it’s my birthday. And sometimes I still cry if I want to. But I’m learning that birthdays can hold many things at once—love, grief, memory, and gratitude.
If you are missing a loved one on their birthday—or even on your own—make it a day to remember them. Remember the places you visited together. Remember the special traditions you shared. Remember how it felt to have them beside you. Speak to them. Bake their favorite treat. Just because they are no longer physically present doesn’t mean you stop celebrating them.
Celebrate them. And celebrate yourself. Because celebration doesn’t always look the way it once did. Sometimes it’s quieter. Sometimes it’s softer. Sometimes it’s simply sitting with the memories and allowing them to exist alongside the present. And maybe remembering is its own kind of celebration.
This year I’m planning to celebrate a little differently—with some self-love. I’m treating myself to a manicure and pedicure, taking time to slow down, and reminding myself to be grateful for another year of life.
And as always, I’ll remind myself that it’s perfectly okay to sing,
“It’s my birthday… and I’ll cry if I want to.”
Channeled Message from Love Ones and Spirit:
Birthdays are more than just another day. It is a time to look back and reflect on the past year and celebrate YOU with how far you came. It is time to give yourself self-love and reflect about this year. Departed loved ones brought joy in your life – remembering them gives you peace and comfort. People come in our lives for a reason. A purpose. Ignoring the feeling will only bring more grief. So let go of the emotions. Cry it out. Walk into them. Your loved ones will be there to comfort you.
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