Happy birthday, baby!

I

t took me a while to realize what day it was. I awoke to gray skies and the chance of snow in the forecast for Wednesday, January twenty-eighth. My birthday. I was thirtyfive. I turned away from the clock radio and wished I’d taken the day off from work. I wanted to stay in bed and snuggle up to my self-pity about being alone - yet again - on this significant day. My most recent attempt at romance had crashed and burned two weeks earlier, and the wounds were still fresh. It hadn’t been a long relationship, and it wasn’t even that much of a relationship, but it had refueled my hopes and dreams about having someone to come home to. As I lay in bed, I remembered blowing out last year’s candles and wishing for the man of my dreams - sure that my luck would change this year. “What the hell is it gonna take?” I asked my walls, angry and terrified at the same time. When the phone rang, I expected to hear warm wishes from my parents or brothers. Instead, it was a man that I once was in contact with, calling to say hi and completely forgetting my birthday. My sister-in-law called next, updating me on her happy life with my brother, and putting my two-year-old niece on the phone to sing to me. I hung up, fed my cat, and tried to remember what I loved about the single life when I was twenty.

Adding to the gloom was the fact that I no longer liked my job as a news reporter. I was dragging myself into the radio station every day, trying to figure out where else I could go and what else I should be doing. Today would be bearable, I thought, because they’d probably have a party for me at work, or maybe my recent ex would do the unexpected and send flowers. I was also looking forward to interviewing a favorite jazz musician whose saxophone and sense of humor were typically delightful. Little did I know that he’d be cranky and so uncooperative that I wanted to shout, “Screw you and your attitude - I shouldn’t even be here today!” To add insult to injury, my co-workers forgot my birthday, and I went home in a snit, empty-handed, slipping in the snow and cursing myself for wearing boots with high heels.

A dinner party with a great circle of women was the bright spot in my day, as my friends made me laugh and look on the bright side of my romantic disaster. But after they left, the sadness returned. I didn’t want to be alone at the end of the day, I didn’t want to be alone at age thirty-five, and I didn’t know where my life was going. My parents had left me a birthday message, and I was glad that I had missed the call, because I didn’t want to talk to them when I felt like such a miserable failure as a daughter and as a woman. I questioned my choices in life, and wondered just what I had passed up marriage and motherhood for. What was so great about my independent life?

I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down to seek comfort from birthday cards that I’d grabbed from the mailbox after work. One envelope reached out to me with the familiar, feminine script of my mother. I pulled out a pink card that read, “The only thing better than having a delightful daughter is watching her become a beautiful woman.” Inside, were these unexpected words:

“As I write, it’s snowing outside - just like the day you were born, thirty-five years ago. I’ll never forget the moment they placed you in my arms. I was so thrilled to have a baby girl - it was a dream come true! Through the years, you continue to be a delight to me - so sweet and thoughtful, and smart and talented. I am so grateful for our friendship, and I admire your courage and adventurous spirit. You are a warm and beautiful woman, Kim Childs, and you are my best friend. Know that I wish you a wonderful year ahead - filled with everything you desire and deserve! I love you, XXOO Mom.”

My teardrops hit the card as I read those powerful words of love. I cried for the deep connection I had to this woman who considered me a gift, a success and an inspiration. Her message stirred my soul and breathed new life into me. I knew, as I lay down to sleep that night, that I was treasured, and that my life made a difference and brought joy to someone I cherished. It was my mother’s second -greatest birthday gift to me - thirty-five years after the first.

- Kim Childs

People tend to become what you tell them they are.

- Dorothy Delay