Why I Love Birthdays (Even When Others Don’t)

A lot of people don’t like birthdays. They shy away from the attention, the aging, the fuss. But me? I love them. I love celebrating other people—making them feel cherished, seen, and special. And when my own birthday rolls around, I’m simply grateful. Grateful for another year on this earth with the people I love. Grateful for the memories, the laughter, the rituals.

This year, my birthday was a masterclass in love.

It started early with my daughter, who had to head back to school but made sure to celebrate with me before she left. I braced myself for my first birthday without her, determined to be emotionally strong. But the universe—and my people—had other plans.

My friends at work showed up like they always do: birthday breakfast, gifts, cards, and all the things that make a girl feel loved. Then came the texts, social media shoutouts, and phone calls from family and friends near and far. Every ping brought a smile to my face.l

On my lunch break, I stopped by to thank my Mom for birthing me. I was just being silly with her. She's living with memory loss, and our moments of connection are often fleeting but she still likes to laugh. She was asleep when I stopped by so I had to leave her a note. But that evening when I returned home, I found a bouquet of birthday flowers sitting in front of my garage door. She must have managed to get her caretaker to take her to pick them out for me. Somehow, in the fog of memory loss, there was a glimmer of remembrance--a mother's love that still found its way to me. It was heartwarming. She remembered. She did her best. And she made sure her baby felt loved. And I did.

And then came the surprise.

My S.O. (and yes, we need a whole blog post on what grown-ass women should call their boyfriends because “boyfriend” feels a little juvenile in your 50s, but I digress) planned a lovely dinner. Just the two of us—or so I thought. As we were getting ready to order, our girls walked in. Cue the water works. Our girls: my daughter and his daughter, who I’ve come to love dearly and consider my bonus daughter.

So it wasn’t my first birthday without my daughter after all.

There were flowers. There were gifts. And then came the cherry on top: a weekend getaway, dog-sitting arranged, every detail handled. But the real gift? He knew what mattered most to me. He worked behind the scenes to make it a family affair. He made sure I was surrounded by my people. And then he planned to whisk me away for romance and rest.

He knows me. And I love that he knows me.

So thank you to everyone who made me feel special. You turned what could’ve been a bittersweet birthday into a celebration of love, connection, and joy.