Today I clicked a box
to change a number beside my name;
just a small digital ritual,
a quiet acknowledgement
that I am still moving forward.
Forty-six.
Another year added,
another round of candles waiting,
another reminder that life keeps happening
even when I’m too tired to notice.
And it hit me,
how many of these days I’ve had,
how many I’ll keep having,
birthdays stacked like pages
in a book I never meant to keep writing.
But my son…
his story stopped mid-sentence.
His number froze in place
while mine keeps ticking upward,
marking time he no longer gets.
He doesn’t age anymore.
No cake.
No candles.
No jokes about getting older.
No groaning about “another **** birthday.”
Just a date on the calendar
that comes
and goes,
and leaves the world unchanged;
except inside me.
I age,
but he does not.
I move,
but he is still.
I celebrate because life demands it,
but part of me whispers
that I would trade every birthday left
for one more of his.
So today is my birthday;
another year lived
with the ache of his absence,
another reminder
that growing older
isn’t promised,
it’s a privilege.
And I carry that truth with me
like a quiet flame,
burning for both of us.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 10:55 PM UTC
Today I clicked a box
to change a number beside my name;
just a small digital ritual,
a quiet acknowledgement
that I am still moving forward.
Forty-six.
Another year added,
another round of candles waiting,
another reminder that life keeps happening
even when I’m too tired to notice.
And it hit me,
how many of these days I’ve had,
how many I’ll keep having,
birthdays stacked like pages
in a book I never meant to keep writing.
But my son…
his story stopped mid-sentence.
His number froze in place
while mine keeps ticking upward,
marking time he no longer gets.
He doesn’t age anymore.
No cake.
No candles.
No jokes about getting older.
No groaning about “another **** birthday.”
Just a date on the calendar
that comes
and goes,
and leaves the world unchanged;
except inside me.
I age,
but he does not.
I move,
but he is still.
I celebrate because life demands it,
but part of me whispers
that I would trade every birthday left
for one more of his.
So today is my birthday;
another year lived
with the ache of his absence,
another reminder
that growing older
isn’t promised,
it’s a privilege.
And I carry that truth with me
like a quiet flame,
burning for both of us.
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