Yesterday was my 38th birthday and the fam really spoiled the heck out of me. I got flowers and drawings and earrings and this bitchen’ handmade ukulele from Celentano Woodworks, which I’ve been coveting for six months. And T was a gem all day, which is probably coincidental, but I’ll take it.

I’m not usually a big fan of my birthday. It’s not about getting older, exactly. It’s more some inexplicable darkness that seeps in under the doors and around the windows. I’ve spent plenty of b-days in bed. But that was when I got to do things like stay in bed all day.

I’ve since learned that it’s common for adoptees to not like birthdays. When I read that, it made perfect sense. I was finally able to put my finger on that specific birthday darkness I get- it’s loss. A deep, body memory of loss. I came upon that because I was researching T’s adoption, not my own. And once again, the effort I put into Tariku winds up helping me in ways I could never have imagined.

And yesterday, for some reason I didn’t succumb to feeling blue. It washed over me at times during the day, but it passed. We all went to Zuma beach in the late afternoon and I felt kind of serene, in fact. This is how many years I’ve been on the planet. This is what that looks like on my face. This is what I have to show for it.

I can’t always see it. I don’t always feel it. But I’m doing just fine.

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