You didn’t call

Dude,

Friday was my birthday. I turned 35. Dude—35. Oh, the hell you would’ve given me for almost being 40 years old. I’m almost over the hill. That’s what we said to Dad when he turned 40, remember? Oh, how my life is so fucking different since you left me.

Every year, you were insistent on FaceTiming me. You made sure everyone sang “Happy Birthday.” You made sure to see me smile when you called me old. Dude, you didn’t call me this year. You didn’t set a time so everyone would sing to me and make me feel special. You left me to grow old without you. To become older than dirt without you. I’ll never hear you call me old or over the hill again. You left me here with this huge hole in my heart. Part of my soul is gone, and I had to celebrate this year without you. You weren’t there to make sure you saw me smile. Dad cooked hamburgers tonight for me—and you weren’t there. You’ll never be there again. I’ll never hear you laugh as they sing to me. I’ll never get to see your smile on my birthday.

The way my heart hurts without you this year… The way my mind is finally starting to let me see that you really aren’t here. Why did it wait until my birthday to slap me in the face so hard with the truth that you’re gone?

Saturday, Mom took me to the Half Price Books flagship store in Dallas. You would’ve loved it—books everywhere. We didn’t look for Hank the Cowdog books, but we will next time. We went to this coffee shop in McKinney that sold plants—Cassidy wanted to go. It was beside this store called Wall of Clay that Momma wanted to bring you to. She couldn’t bring herself to go in without you. I tried to encourage her, but she just couldn’t do it.

Then we went to a nursery for plants. Then off to the bookstore. Dude, you would’ve been over the moon with ALL the damn books they had. Baseball books, stupid books, even books about grief. Go figure, right? I tried to find something that jumped out at me in that section, but nothing did. Guess you didn’t want me to find that book just yet.

Then on to Target because Addie and Cheyenne wanted to go. Eye roll. “Addie gets what Addie wants,” huh? Yep—your favorite person still got what she wanted.

Mom got Chick-fil-A for us. When we got home and ate, it became brutally clear you weren’t there. Mom’s house is so quiet without you. No oxygen concentrator making that pfft sound. Your TV wasn’t on. Mom didn’t have to change it for you before we left or when we got home. I didn’t go in and tell you hello and goodbye before we left. I just gave Mom and Pat hugs and left. I just fucking left without telling you bye.

I’ve never done that. I’ve never not told you what I got for my birthday. Never not made sure your favorite person told you hello and goodbye. Dude, your room was dark, quiet, and just empty. I’ll never get to tell you “Hey” or sneak up on you again.

Oh man, how I loved to surprise you when I came over. To sneak in and pop up by your bed to scare you and make you laugh. So much so that Mom ended up getting that mirror above your bed so you could see who was walking in before they got to you.

So here’s to turning 35. Here’s to growing older without you. Here’s to missing you in every breath, every laugh, every damn birthday song.