Every August since 1998, I’ve made an effort to embrace my birthday with excitement and joy. It’s a task I undertake with the hope that the celebration of my life might somehow overshadow the deep sadness of my mother’s death. I try each year to make peace with this duality, but every year, around August 21, I find myself breaking down, overwhelmed by the reminder that my birthday will always carry a weight of complexity that I cannot escape.

I often wonder why I keep putting myself through this. In nearly every other aspect of my life, especially in dealing with my mother’s suicide, I’ve found ways to accept and move forward. Yet, when it comes to my birthday, I’ve clung to the hope that it could be uncomplicated and joyous. I’ve resisted accepting that the joy typically associated with birthdays might never be fully mine to experience. I’ve fought against the complexity because I am resentful that I am the one burdened with it. I didn’t choose this, and I certainly didn’t ask for it. Each August, I push forward only to be reminded that the complexity is beyond my control.

Family and friends have made countless efforts to show their love and distract me from the pain that the day brings. Their kindness and support have meant so much to me, but I’m slowly coming to terms with the reality that no amount of distraction will erase the pain associated with this day.

Complexity is inherent in grief, and perhaps that’s why my birthday is so fraught with emotional turmoil. It’s a day that was once a celebration of my life, a day when my mother first saw me. Yet, it’s also a stark reminder that the very next day, she would take her own life. The juxtaposition of these two events—the day of my birth and the day she died—creates an emotional tension that I struggle to reconcile.

I miss my mother deeply, and it feels surreal to say that after almost 26 years. I am now about to turn two years older than she was when she died. Despite the passage of time and the changes in who I am, the void left by her absence remains. I try to make sense of these complexities in my mind, but the reality is that I can’t fully reconcile them.

Acceptance is a crucial part of the grief process. While I’ve accepted my mother’s death in many ways over the years, accepting that her death will forever cast a shadow over my birthday remains a challenge. I am making an effort to navigate this acceptance, but the path isn’t clear, and I’m not entirely sure how to proceed.

As I approach another August, I carry with me the hope that by continuing to confront these complexities, I might find a way to integrate them into my life more peacefully. It’s an ongoing journey, and while I may never achieve the simplicity I once wished for, perhaps I can learn to embrace the duality of this day with a measure of grace…

August 20 of this year I fly to Michigan to speak on the importance of mental health in school safety on the 21st. Then I fly immediately home because all I want for my birthday is to be with my two guys (and Minnie)… two guys that love me so fully in the complexity.

Tonight I am comforted by the lyrics of the song Beam me up by P!NK:

Could you beam me up,
Give me a minute, I don’t know what I’d say in it
Probably just stare, happy just to be there holding your face
Beam me up,
Let me be lighter, I’m tired of being a fighter, I think,
A minute’s enough,
Just beam me up.