Today, somewhere out there, he turns 39.
His one birthday we had together wasn’t a pleasant one – and neither were the days before and after it. They were pretty bad.
I sometimes used to sing The Carpenter’s “Top of the World” to him; although looking back, I definitely wasn’t on the top of the world.
I’m not sure if I’d be able to honestly wish him a happy birthday, but I don’t wish a miserable birthday for him either.
It’s just… his birthday.
I just entered my 30’s this year, and he’s starting his last year in his 30’s.
It’s just another day, but it is his birthday… wherever he is, whatever he’s doing.