It's almost my birthday...

I was born at 1:21 AM CST. That means that at 2:21 AM EST I will be officially 25. So why don't I feel happy about it? The year 24 is almost over. Most people count New Year's as a new beginning. I count birthdays as the beginnings. I should be happy that the saddest year of my life is almost over. But I'm not. Maybe because I was mostly happy. The sad part is quite recent.

Saturdays are the hardest days for me. Today, it has been three weeks. For my birthday last year, my mom and grandmother went in together to get stuff to decorate my kids' bathroom. They're bathroom is decorated in rubber duckies. It is totally adorable. I liked decorating their bathroom so much that this year, Mema and Momma were going to go in together to get stuff to decorate my bathroom. Now, I'm not trying to sound selfish, but I see my bathroom undecorated and it makes me remember that it should be. I could get the stuff myself, so that's not it. The problem was that Mema was going to get it for me. I'm honestly fine with the part that it's not done, but I don't like the reason why.

Also, this is obviously the first birthday without her. She won't call me in the morning. My mom will call me. She actually didn't get the days mixed up. (She has a problem with calling me the day before, or the day after. It's not the date she gets mixed up, it's the weekday.)

The worst part is that it's not just my birthday, but A.J.'s birthday is 20 days after mine, and Arielle's is a week later than A.J.'s. So no visit from Mema around the kids' birthdays. Momma is still planning to come down with one of her friends, but it's not the same. Also, it was tradition that Mema had the kids' birthday pictures done. She's done it every time she was here.

At the risk of repeating myself, it's been three weeks. So why do I still feel like crying most of the time? I actually am crying right now, so please excuse any typos this post may have. I really wish we could have held onto her longer, or that her body had been strong enough for a transplant, or that SOMETHING had happened differently. Grandaddy's mother (who I was really close to) died when I was 15. She was 87. Mema's mom (who A.J. was really close to) died when he was 2 1/2 and I was 21. She was 87. Therefore, Mema should have been around for 20 more years. That's how it should have been. But it wasn't.

I'm gonna stop rambling now. I'm getting to the point where I can't see the screen very well. I do want to say thank you for all the birthday greeting, here, email, and on the boards. It's nice to know that people care. And I promise that my blog won't always be depressing. I just can't help it right now.