Feliz Cumpleanos a Mi, or The Greater Good
“We are so fragile, and our cracking bones make noise,
and we are just breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.”
-”Breakable” by Ingrid Michaelson
Whenever I think of the Spanish word for birthday – cupleanos – I think of “accomplish.” I have accomplished another year.
Not terribly impressive when you think about it. Unless you know me.
My father came to wish me a good day, and I see he is old; his teeth are falling out. My mother forgets things. We break down over time in body and mind and some of us sooner rather than later. Some of us hasten it along.
My friend’s husband wonders how he stands a fighting chance at living without suicide if even Mother Teresa wrestled against the tearing down voice inside. I don’t have the answer.
There is a beast of vision inside some of us that requires us to wage daily battle. A knowing that we all grasp at talismans to give meaning to waking up another day and to ward off the thought that it amounts to nothing but another spin of the earth.
I grow tired of hearing myself think.
I wish to hold out some hope, but I have none to give.
Instead, I must rise from this chair and force myself to do something that will make me forget I feel this way.
I make light of my frailties like whistling in the dark; I apologize today for the excessive darkness.
Tomorrow, I will whistle again.
Happy Day of Birth, or Great Accomplisment.
Seriously, it is an accomplishment, to make it through, to retain humour, to let the darkness be when it needs to be.