"A Birthday Without Wishes..."

Dear Readers,

The day began like any other. I opened my eyes to the soft, gray light of morning creeping through the curtains, its dull glow casting shadows that seemed indifferent to the passing of time. The air in the room was still, almost untouched as if the world had collectively decided to forget this day my birthday.

The quiet was unnerving, heavier than usual. Once, this day had been full of warmth, of voices calling out in joy. My mother used to be the first to wish me, waking me gently, her voice full of love. She’d stroke my hair and whisper, “Happy birthday, my darling.” Yes, that time I had hair, hee-hee. I could almost hear her voice now, soft and comforting, though she had been gone for years. Her absence gnawed at me today in a way it hadn’t in a while. It wasn’t just the empty space where her voice should have been; it was the growing realization that the things she used to fill my life with had faded as if they were only shadows of what they once were.

Although today ain’t my birthday, I remind myself that every day is mine. It’s a way of surviving, of reminding myself that I still exist, even if nobody else seems to remember. It’s a self-preservation tactic because I refuse to forget myself, not today, not any day.

Dragging myself out of bed, I went through the motions: brush, shower, breakfast. Everything felt mechanical, like a script I had memorized. It wasn’t just the absence of celebration; it was the absence of acknowledgment, of recognition. As if my very existence had become invisible, tucked away in the corners of everyone’s mind.

On my way to work, I scrolled through social media. The endless stream of birthday wishes on other people’s timelines hit me like a flood of happy faces, cakes, and love. All of it is so far removed from my reality. It wasn’t jealousy that burned within me, but an aching sense of loss. The small parties, the cakes my mother always baked, the laughter of friends who once cared. Where had all that gone? Were those moments just figments of my imagination? I tried to hold onto them, but the memories slipped through my fingers like sand, unable to anchor me.

By mid-morning, the weight of the day pressed down on me, suffocating, as if the very air had thickened with the weight of unspoken grief. I tried to focus, to push through the blur of tasks ahead, but my mind wandered, lost in thought. The word “insignificant” flashed in my mind, unbidden and persistent. A nagging reminder that perhaps I was just that a speck in a world that kept turning, indifferent to my presence.

At 8:30 AM, my phone buzzed, breaking through the fog of my thoughts. For a fleeting moment, hope stirred within me. Someone remembered? My heart raced as I picked up the phone.

“Happy birthday!” came the cheerful voice on the other end. It wasn’t someone I expected just an old acquaintance who had somehow remembered for reasons I couldn’t understand. That simple wish, so small yet profound, stirred something inside me. It was like a tiny spark in the darkness. For a moment, I felt special, wanted even, as if I wasn’t as forgotten as I feared.

But then the moment passed, and the silence returned. The phone call didn’t erase the loneliness, nor did it fill the void left by years of absence. The rest of the day dragged on, uneventful, a blur of gray. By evening, I found myself alone in my small apartment, with only Midnight and Snowy, my two cats, as my companions. I stroked their fur absentmindedly, grateful for their presence, but their warmth only reminded me of what was missing the human connection that once seemed so natural.

The memories of my mother returned again, unbidden, but this time they were different. They no longer held the same sweetness they once did. They were tinged with sorrow, with the understanding that I would never again experience the comfort of her voice or the joy of her presence. I thought of the time she called me at work on my birthday, just to sing to me over the phone. She had always made the day feel special and made me feel cherished. Now, those memories were all I had. And it hurt, knowing that I had nothing left but memories, and they were fading, too.

I couldn’t help but question my worth. Was I truly as useless as I felt? The shadows of self-doubt loomed large, threatening to engulf me. The word “loser” echoed again, louder this time, and I couldn’t shake it.

As the night deepened, I lit a small candle I had kept in the drawer. It wasn’t much just a flickering flame but in that moment, it was everything. I whispered a soft “Happy birthday” to myself, my voice barely audible. The flame flickered and danced, casting shadows on the walls, and for a fleeting second, I felt a warmth that wasn’t just from the candle. It was the memory of my mother’s love, the echo of her words that had once held me together. I clung to that memory and allowed it to fill the empty space, if only for a moment.

For that moment, I allowed myself to grieve. To feel the weight of loneliness. But I also allowed myself a tiny glimmer of hope. Because even in the darkest moments, I remembered what my mother had always told me: “You’re special, my darling. Don’t ever forget that.”

I wasn’t sure I believed it anymore, but I held onto her words, the love she once gave me. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to carry me through another year.

The next morning, as I made my way to work, I found myself lost in thought again. I turned on the radio, hoping the music might distract me from the emptiness that still lingered. A cheerful tune played, momentarily lifting my spirits. And then, as if on cue, my phone rang again. I glanced at the screen an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” I answered hesitantly.

“Your phone bill was due for payment,” came the automated voice on the other end. It wasn’t the conversation I wanted to hear, but it was real, tangible. Someone, somewhere, needed something from me. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, a bitter one.

At that moment, I allowed myself to feel sad once more. It didn’t erase the pain or the loneliness, but it reminded me of one simple truth: even in a world that often feels indifferent, there are still small sparks of light. And sometimes, those sparks no matter how fleeting are enough to keep going.

“Happy Birthday in Advance to myself. In case I forget myself, or in case I Die…”

Jacob M