Two birthdays

A week ago, a birthday slid right past me. June 21 marked 5 years this little blog has been around. I was a much more consistent blogger then, and I hope to get back into the groove again. Thanks to all of you who still check in every one in a while to see if my muse has struck, and for being patient with me on the many, many days it hasn't.

And the other birthday.

Today Kris would have turned 40. SHOULD have turned 40.

We'll have cake tonight (chocolate, of course) and reminisce a little -- although it can't be much because Evan, bless his heart, still cries at your mere mention. He misses you.

I miss you.

Remember the chocolate thing at Faneuil Hall in Boston? With the giant ice cream scoop of still-soft, gooey fudge on top? Of course you do; how many times did we relive sharing that while my husband listened and shook his head, wondering how on earth we could be so passionate about a dessert we'd had 2, 5, 10 years before?

Remember when you came to visit me our senior year of high school and meeting all my friends? How grateful I am you did that -- especially since that meant my husband's history with you was almost as long as mine.

Remember?

I know you do. Your memory was always far better and more reliable than mine. I have discovered in these 7 months that THAT is the thing I have lost; I lost your memories of us together -- your perspective, your unique take on events, your understanding of things we shared yet may have experienced differently.

Friendships are built on shared experiences and the memories of those experiences. I lost my other half when you died, in so many ways.

I miss you, my friend, on this day when you should have turned 40. We should have commiserated about those first few crow's feet showing up; should have talked about Garrett's upcoming birthday and how I plan to navigate these teen years with him, should have dished about a pair of shoes you were eying and that cute bachelor you'd just been introduced to.

You should BE here.

And I am so sad and angry and frustrated and, well, just Pissed. Off. That you are not.

I'm still figuring this out, this living without you in the world. I'm not sure exactly how to do it, and while some days I think I'm successful, most I think, as you would say, "Not so much."

In the end, all I can say is, "I am thinking of you today, and every day. Happy birthday, my friend. I hope all of your wishes have come true."