This is my birthday without him. He didn't pass away, but he passed away. I never thought this would happen to us. I used to think that all problems could be fixed if you love each other. I thought that prayer, trust, and long-suffering would be enough. But now, here I am—cooking spaghetti while trying to smile for my son, even though inside, I feel like there's a hole that I don't know when will be filled again.
I did everything. I talked to him over and over again. I begged him. I even accepted his explanations even though I knew they were no longer true. Until the end, I was the only one holding on. The day came when he said it bluntly: he didn't want to go home anymore. I couldn't force him anymore.
At first, it felt like my world was collapsing. I had so many questions—where did I go wrong? How is our son? What will I say when they find him? But no matter how sick I am, I know I can't be the one to lose myself.
I love my son. He is my only companion now in a house that is sometimes full of laughter. He is also the reason why even though it hurts, I have to get up every day. I don't want him to feel inadequate or alone. He is still young—he has no idea that a simple “where is Daddy?” is like a knife stabbing me repeatedly in the chest.
My daughter is a girl, and honestly, that's another reason why I choose to fight more. I don't want the day to come when she experiences the same pain. I don't want her to learn that it's normal to be left behind. I want her to see that even when someone leaves, you can still rebuild yourself, you can still be happy.
I've cried a lot. There are nights when I try to sleep even though my eyes are swollen from crying. There are mornings when I feel like I don't have the strength to get up. But I know, this is not the end of my story. This is not the mark of my life as a mother.
So on my birthday, even though I just wanted to shut myself away and grieve, I chose to cook, clean, and prepare a little treat. Not to show that I'm okay, but to remind myself that I still have the right to be happy, at least once in a while. For my child. For myself.
Even though I don't know what tomorrow will bring, I know I can do it. We can both. The time will come when my birthdays won't hurt anymore. The day will come when I will see myself whole again, braver, and able to love without being exhausted.
For now, a simple celebration, a hug from my son, and a reminder that even though I was abandoned, it doesn't mean no one will love me anymore—especially myself.
