Happy Birthday

Two words that should bring joy and excitement remind me of the day that changed my life forever. Serve as a reflection of my milestones and ignite celebration; they are nothing more than a double-edged sword.
Fourteen years ago, one of my biggest nightmares became my reality. I woke up on my 12th birthday with an overwhelming understanding and sadness that my birthdays would never be the same again. I couldn’t believe that I wasn’t getting ready for a birthday party. Instead, I was getting ready to say goodbye to my mother for the very last time.
I vividly remember getting dressed and thinking, why is this happening to me? Was God punishing me for not being by my mother’s side as her condition got worse? Was it because every day that passed, I felt angry? Is this all part of a bigger picture? I knew she had suffered for months and was finally at peace. It should have brought some ease to my pain. Instead, all that was going through my mind was going through my trials, tribulations, and accomplishments without her.
I felt selfish, numb, and insignificant. I felt selfish because all I saw was my own pain and didn’t care about anyone else’s. Numb because I felt my youth and happiness disappear right before my eyes. Insignificant because that day was no longer about me. I honestly wished it was me and not her. It felt unfair to be living knowing that she had fought for months to stay alive and that I was alive, knowing I couldn’t care less about living. All I saw were sad faces, a casket, and a gloomy sky. An eery quietness that felt eternal and agonizing. I knew November 1st was the end of her beautiful story in that quietness.
The depth of my pain becomes more and more unbearable with every passing birthday. I feel guilt every single year because I should be happy. I should take what happened that day and use it to connect to her. I know she wouldn’t want me to feel this way. That should make it easier right? For some reason, it just makes me feel so much worse. Because here I am blessed enough to be alive, and I’m genuinely not living. I’m just existing.
When I lost her, I couldn’t believe it. Somehow I convinced myself that she was still alive, that it was just a nightmare. But when I wake up on my birthday and she’s not there, when I don’t hear “las mañanitas,” I am reminded that this isn’t a nightmare and that I’m truly alone. That she is no longer here to make my day special with her smile, her laugh, or her embrace. That the only person that can make my day special is me.
Every year I’m constantly asked, “what will make you happy?” I don’t answer because what will make me happy, and my one true wish is the same. I wish I could talk to her, even if it’s just for a minute. Just to hear her voice would be the most beautiful gift I could ever receive. The reality always sinks in that my one true wish will not come true; that’s when I completely shut down and cry uncontrollably. All I see is 12 year old Ivelisse, the casket, the sad faces, and the burial. Any hope that I can finally celebrate myself completely disappears.
Today may have started the same way, but I am determined to make a change. By feeling my sadness, dealing with it, and most importantly, writing this, I am taking the initiative to finally heal. This pain truly feels infinite, all-consuming, and very isolating. I’ve let this guilt and pain define me and my worth for far too long; may the tears I’ve cried today be the beginning to reclaiming my happiness.