A Creejless Birthday

It'll be here in an hour and a half. I'll be 38, an age Chris never got to see. My birthday was always so special just because I knew he loved me. We never really exchanged gifts, unless we saw something small that the other would appreciate, like a book, or a free movie pass, or one of those hand-squeezie devices that guitarists use to strengthen their grips. More often than not, Creej and I would walk somewhere, get a drink and toast to each other. "Here's to you." Of course I would always say, "Here's to ME." And defeated, he would say, "I know." or "Again?" and heave a heavy sigh.

Tomorrow's going to be a tough one. I lived to hear his happy birthday wish. I lived to see the card on the table in the morning, when it hadn't been there the night before. I wouldn't have minded at all if it wasn't even there, because Creej was special and I knew he would have meant happy birthday even if he didn't get to say it until we saw each other that night.

You know what's really hard? Saying good bye to the presence of someone in your life with whom you shared a silent language. We just knew each other. We knew what each other meant, what each other thought and what each other needed. I guess that's just what comes from enmeshing your life with someone's whom you love.

So tonight, on my birthday eve, I'm taking the night to remember my beloved husband and how happy he made me. The six years we shared together are my birthday gift evermore.

Thanks, Creej. It was just what I always wanted.

Shneed