Of Course I Know It’s Your Birthday

Six years ago, I was still filled with a lot of resentment toward the ex. I can’t say it has gone away entirely, but I can think of him now with a bit more personal detachment. Back then, I wished him a happy birthday, but it was purely out of spite. And as I reflected on that this year, I thought, for as much time as he reluctantly occupies in my brain, it would be counterproductive to not wish him a happy birthday this year.

Since I thought of it, I sent him a text. Simple “Happy birthday”. No more, no less. I did it and laughed. Because I knew he would not be expecting it. But it would be stupid of me to pretend I didn’t know it was his birthday. For the entire time that we were married, I handled all of his official paperwork and personal affairs. I knew his birthday, his social, his past addresses, and his phone numbers. If knowing the name of his dog and his favorite teddy bear would have been needed at some point in our marriage, I probably knew that too.

The truth is that for the 14+ years that we were together, he infiltrated much of my life. And I am finally able to admit that despite not wanting to remember it all, not wanting to have that knowledge trapped in my head, not wanting to have had all that life experience running his life for him, I did, and that is that. He is there forever, it seems. And I am finally able to admit it and move on.

He did reply. I could tell he was not expecting me to wish him one, just as I was not expecting him to reply. It is what it is.

So I do wish him a happy birthday. I wish him one because he is alive. Despite my wishing sometimes that it were different, if for no other reason than to have a different emotion living in my head when it comes to him. Despite knowing that this year he did not wish me a happy birthday, and I can’t recall the last time he actually did. And I am okay with that.